


The Ruby Pendant Club

by incorrectbatfam



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: The game is a simple one to play.Just follow as the pendants say.Pearly white is common and fair.It means the other half’s out there.When it’s sapphire blue, then celebratefor one has found their lifelong mate.And if it turns obsidian black,that’s true love lost, never to come back.But if it’s ruby red they sport,well... best not wander near that sort.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Jaime Reyes & Brenda Del Vecchio, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hi.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883676) by [newtporn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtporn/pseuds/newtporn). 



> I’ve adjusted their ages so Jaime is 17 and Bart is 16 in this.
> 
> Also, my stories tend to take shape of whatever song I designated for it, so for this one, it's "I Should Have Kissed You" by One Direction.

Pearly white. Jaime’s pendant was as pure as an angel’s robes. 

Hanging from his neck on a thin, indestructible cord, the smooth, coin-like charm told the world everything they wanted to know. It was the first thing people noticed about someone. Not their eyes or laugh or cratered skin. Their pendant.

White was a perfectly normal color. It simply meant Jaime hadn’t found his soulmate. Nobody batted an eye at that. At seventeen, most people he knew still sported that color. Many kept it as they got older.

That didn’t stop them from searching. Online matchmaking was more popular than ever, with apps for all demographics trying to find their better half. First dates were common; second dates were not. People spent exorbitant amounts of money on vacations in hopes that they’d meet their soulmate on the beaches of Cancún or a train station platform in Berlin. Psychics were popular, scamming desperate suckers out of their pocket change. Old couples told meet-cute stories and idealistic teenagers tried to follow in their footsteps. It was as though the planet revolved not around the fiery yellow Sun, but the abstract concept of a one true love.

Jaime wasn’t too concerned about that. Soulmates were intrinsically tied by the universe’s strings. Meetings happened when they happened. He didn’t see the purpose of rushing it.

Glancing up at his phone, he spotted his seven-year-old sister, Milagro, playing with a pair of similar-looking but opposite-sex toddlers in a sandbox. All three of their necklaces hung like silver raindrops on delicate ribbons, bouncing with every move. One thing Jaime was grateful for was that Milagro wouldn’t break hers. The pendants couldn’t be broken unless the owner intended to (otherwise there would be a problem with clumsy children).

The playground sounds—the screaming children, chattering mothers, and barking dogs—were largely drowned out by Jaime’s headphones. He took up one earbud just to check up on Milagro, who was hopelessly rambling to the toddlers in Spanish with a plastic shovel in one hand and castle-shaped bucket in the other. 

Jaime was confused when several of the parents began calling their kids to them. They weren’t loud, but their gentle beckoning spoke volumes. The place was thirty-three percent emptier by the time Jaime noticed what caused those reactions. Or more specifically, _who_.

Approaching the sandbox, a freckled, redheaded teen around Jaime’s age—maybe a little younger—crouched beside the toddlers.

“Don, Dawn. Dinner’s ready. Let’s go,” the teen said.

Danging from his neck was an evil eye; a red pendant blemished with a spiderweb crack. Jaime stepped over and grabbed Milagro’s hand.

“ _Tiempo de ir a casa_ ,” Jaime said.

“ _¿Pero por qué?_ ” Milagro whined. “ _Nosotros acabamos de llegar._ ”

His voice hardened. “ _Puedes jugar en otro lugar. Vamonos._ ”

Jaime shoved his phone and earbuds into his gray sweatshirt pocket. He didn’t make eye contact with the other teen as he led Milagro out of the metal park gates. The hem of his jeans brushed the damp-but-drying sidewalk. The humidity clung to his arm hair.

“What’s going on, Jaime?” Milagro asked. “Why’d we leave?”

“Because Mamá _y_ Papá would freak if they found out we were hanging around…”

“Around what?”

Jaime shook his head as he pressed the button for the crosswalk. “Never mind.”

“Is it the boy’s necklace?”

He brushed her off. “You won’t get it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “I think it looks pretty.”

“It’s not about looking nice,” Jaime said. “You’ll learn when you’re older.”

Milagro pouted but dropped the subject. Jaime breathed in relief. 

A few moments passed in silence before Milagro pointed to an ice cream cart. “Can we get some?”

“Sure,” he answered. Anything to keep her from asking tough questions.

§

As Milagro happily slurped her ice cream cone, stubby legs swinging from the bench, Jaime scrolled through the newsfeed on his social media. Apparently, a new headline surfaced and took the internet by storm in the time it took for his sister to decide on a flavor and for him to count out his cash. He fiddled with the white pendant as he clicked on a video. Jaime put his headphones on.

A reporter spoke. “This is the Daily Planet online, where we deliver real-time news straight to you.”

Jaime shifted his screen to avoid the sun’s glare.

**_“In breaking news: Damian Wayne, the youngest heir to Wayne Industries, was spotted on the streets wearing a ruby necklace. When questioned, the thirteen-year-old simply flashed the press a rude gesture. This comes three weeks after his father and stepmother, billionaires Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle announced that they have been wearing red pendants and only one week after his brother, Jason Todd-Wayne, was seen on a date with Star City’s Roy Harper, both without blue pendants.”_ **

The camera zoomed out to show the woman at a table with another news anchor—a stocky, balding man in a pressed suit. Jaime rolled his eyes. He never understood the big deal with celebrity gossip.

She continued. _**"**_ ** _This, of course, raises the age-old question: are these ruby-wearers a negative influence on children, and should they be allowed into roles such as teaching or parenting?”_ **

_“Okay, that’s a stretch,”_ he thought.

 **_“I was raised with traditional values,”_ ** the man said. **_“And with things like this, you can see that the child is directly copying his older family members. He is only thirteen, which I think is far too young to be making these kinds of decisions.”_ **

Sticky fingers tugged Jaime’s sleeve. 

“I’m done,” said Milagro, face covered in melted chocolate. She leaned over. “ _¿Qué estás viendo?_ ”

Jaime slipped his phone away and grabbed a fistful of napkins from the cart. “Nothing. You don’t have to worry about it.”

§

Everyone wanted a blue pendant. It was a fact of life. Everyone wanted to look into the eyes of love and say with absolute certainty, _“You. You’re the one.”_ Everyone wanted to feel the warmth against their bosom as their charm turned from snow white to a brilliant sapphire, like a blue dwarf star blazing to life after eons of frozen dormancy. Those jewels were Jaime favorite. As a kid, he liked it because blue was his favorite color. Now, one year away from legal adulthood, it was solace; it was a guarantee that no matter what happened, no matter where school and careers and money took him, someone would be by his side. A partner. A soulmate. For better or worse; for the good, the bad, the ugly. 

His parents were living the dream. They met one random September day when Bianca Leal pulled into Alberto Reyes’s auto shop for a routine oil change. And… that was it. Their’s was simple compared to some of the stories Jaime heard. His friends, Tye and Asami, collided on their skateboards—Asami broke her nose, Tye twisted his ankle, and they both got detention for skating on school property. Jaime’s other friends—Brenda Del Vecchio and Paco Testas—worked the same summer job. Jaime’s uncle spilled hot tea on his aunt. There were fairytales of lucky fans meeting their favorite celebrities and there were horror stories of serial killers. Jaime could only pray his first encounter is that smooth as his mother and father’s. 

Everyone dreaded a black pendant. It was another fact of life. Nobody wanted their stone to turn dark and grow cold like a match doused in water. No one wanted to face the world alone—that was the purpose of soulmates. Just like how white necklaces were common among children, black necklaces appeared more frequently in aging cohorts. A young person wearing an obsidian circle was bound to be an object of pity. The boy had witnessed it only once, when his grandmother held vigil at his grandfather’s bedside. Jaime wasn’t much older than six. The concept of death didn’t register in his little mind. All he could recall was his _abuela’s_ hand wrapped around the obsidian jewel as raindrops cascaded down her rosy cheeks. 

As the siblings entered the house, Jaime told Milagro to go upstairs and wash the remaining ice cream residue off of her face. He tossed his sweatshirt on a kitchen chair. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and spicy, sizzling chorizos fanned across the house. His mother hummed an old Mexican tune under her breath. Jaime stifled a cough and made his way to the living room. The smoke was lighter there. 

“ _¿Seriamente?_ Another one? I’m not paying cable to see this garbage!”

Jaime didn’t even notice his father on the recliner. The man had sunk so deep that the line between human and furniture was nonexistent. Good thing Jaime didn’t take a seat.

His eyes traveled from his father to the source of the ire. On the boxy TV screen, a group of heroic hackers were deducing a cyber villain's puzzle. Of the more than half-dozen, one wore a cracked ruby pendant.

Alberto didn’t see his son, as he kept commenting. “These people are taking over the media. Ruining perfectly good movies. I can’t find anything where they’re not shoving their agenda down our throats these days.”

The teen awkwardly backed away as the man continued his tirade. “Jesus Christ would be disappointed if he saw this. Red is the color of blood, the color of hellfire, the color of the Devil…”

Everybody knew of the red pendants. Nobody wanted to associate with them. Getting friendly with one invited ridicule. Having one was a death sentence. The red rubies with intentional marring were the symbol of those who rejected the notion of soulmates. They destroyed their necklaces, rendering them useless. Whether by slashing, smashing, or stabbing, the ruby pendant people condemned themselves to a life of struggle and strife. Red pendant–wearers couldn’t legally get married or have children. They were outnumbered ninety-nine to one and had zero advantages in society. Lots of them didn’t live to see fifty. They got fired, evicted, killed. Jaime was taught that those ruby-wearers were _sinful, immoral, unnatural_. Perverts. Predators. Satan-worshippers. Barely even human. He didn’t understand why anyone would go against the natural order and make things harder for themselves.

He had never seen one before today. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see one again. Jaime couldn't picture himself talking to one—they were just too different.

The teen jogged upstairs and began packing tomorrow morning’s backpack dinner wouldn’t be for a while. The first day of school was always important to him. Jaime busied himself counting Number Two pencils and drawing a beetle on his graphing calculator to differentiate it from others, the boy from the playground already becoming a forgotten memory.


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, school. The dress code posters on every door, the bouncing purple chicken nuggets, and the varsity athletes who’ve never heard of deodorant. Jaime was so focused on his senior year classes that he forgot about a crucial aspect of the first day: the _students_. 

Lockers flapped open and shut like moths gathered on a tree trunk. Ducking under a swinging sousaphone, Jaime made his way to the outdoor tables, his mother’s homemade lunch tucked firmly in his backpack.

The September sun warmed his face as he stepped into the cobblestone quad. Picnic tables lined the circular walkway, shaded by sturdy birch canopies. Freshman milled about with foldout maps the size of window panes. Sophomores and juniors gravitated towards their friend groups, exchanging hugs and vacation stories from their three months apart. One girl was practicing scales on her violin. Chittering chipmunks skittered across his path. Parked on the side of the road— _technically_ not on school property—was the decades-old burrito truck frequented by kids and teachers alike. He could taste the sweet perfume of wild clovers and last night’s rain. The unclipped grass tickled Jaime’s ankles as he walked over to where two of his friends, Tye and Asami, were sitting.

As soon as he spotted Jaime, Tye got up and greeted him with a secret handshake and one-armed hug.

“Jaime, my man, how’s it been? Man, summer went by so fast!”

“‘Course it did for you guys,” Jaime replied, grinning. “How was Japan?”

“It was dope!” said Tye. “I met Asami’s relatives and I think they like me. You should’ve been there.”

Jaime playfully snorted. “And be a third wheel? No thanks.”

He slid into the seat opposite of the couple and pulled out his lunch.

Asami pointed to his necklace, tilting her head. In broken English, she asked, “You did not find yours?”

Jaime shrugged. “Not yet. It’s no big deal, _chica_. It’ll happen when it happens.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. “Where are Paco and Brenda?”

“I dunno. Paco, where are we?”

Jaime nearly dropped his sandwich.

“ _¡Hijole!_ ” He whirled around. “You do this every year!”

Brenda snickered. “‘Cause it works.”

Jaime pouted. Paco ruffled his hair. 

“My soulmate wouldn’t treat me like this,” Jaime said.

The two of them took the spots on either side of Jaime. Brenda pulled her hair into a ponytail, almost getting it tangled with her carelessly dangling pendant. Unlike his girlfriend, Paco’s necklace was tucked inside his flannel shirt.

“Whoever your soulmate is, they’re probably more chill than you,” Brenda remarked.

Jaime scoffed. “I can be chill.”

“No offense, but you’re as chill as the Sahara,” said Tye. “Your soulmate’s gonna need one heck of an appetite to keep up with your stress-baking.”

Jaime flicked a breadcrumb at his friend. It landed on the ground, now a free snack for the birds.

Just beyond that, at another table, a familiar auburn flash caught his eye. He nudged Paco. “Who’s that guy?”

“ _¿Quién?_ ”

As discreetly as possible, Jaime pointed to the student—the same boy from the playground. Tye, Asami, and Brenda followed his finger. 

“That’s Bart Allen,” Brenda answered. “Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious,” Jaime said. “Haven’t seen him around.”

“He just moved here from Central City.” Paco glanced at the other table, where the redhead and some other ruby-necklace kids were messing around, tossing chips into each other’s mouths; clearly, it wasn’t hard for him to find his clique. “No one knows why he left his old school.”

“I heard he ran away,” Asami said, voice no more than a hushed whisper.

Tye snickered. “That’s not what I heard. I heard he tried to seduce the police chief’s daughter into destroying her necklace.” 

Jaime’s eyes lingered on the boy—this Bart Allen kid who, for some reason, snagged his attention and wouldn’t leave. He noticed the necklace brushing the table. He noticed how Bart threw his head back, laughing at everything everyone said like he was paid to make the others feel like the most hilarious people around. Bart’s leg shook under the table; his fingers tapped a nonsensical rhythm on the edge. His auburn ponytail brushed the collar of his crimson leather jacket. As soon as he finished the lollipop he was sucking on, he tossed the stick, unwrapped another one, and popped it into his mouth, only to take it out again in favor of a bite of his lunch.

“Maybe his parents just moved,” Brenda pointed out with a ‘duh’ tone. “Not every new kid has some top-secret backstory. Y’all’ve been watching too many movies.”

“Nah.” Tye shook his head. “Just _look_ at him.”

“What’s wrong with how he looks?” she asked. “I think it’s kinda cool.”

“It’s so _Ruby_ ,” he replied. “You know?”

Paco shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. Brenda took a sudden interest in the “Traci + Natasha 4ever” scratched onto the table. Asami gave a genuine giggle.

Jaime chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. _Totally_.”

§

“Thanks for the rec letter, Mr. Kord,” Jaime said as he stepped out of the classroom.

Several minutes had passed since the end-of-day bell rang. The once-crowded corridors were now sparse as most kids either made their way to the parking lot or after-school clubs. Trash cans were stuffed to the brim with chip bags and abandoned worksheets. Jaime nearly knocked over a wet floor sign next to the door. Sneakers squeaking, he made his way to his locker. 

As he filed his books into his backpack, he glanced down the hall. The only other occupant was somebody crouched by a closed locker. They were too far for Jaime to see any details, but it helped that they were on his way to the door. Then he wouldn’t look like a random rubbernecker.

Somehow, Jaime was both surprised and unsurprised to see that the person was Bart Allen. He was too busy working and cursing under his breath to notice Jaime. 

The locker looked, for a lack of a better term, like _crap_. Multi-colored sticky notes with swear words covered the lower half like a chessboard, scribbled with swear words and lewd drawings. Ketchup-stained toilet paper and cheaply printed, violent black-and-white photos were pasted on with silver duct tape and dripping school glue. Scrawled in blood-red Sharpie were the words, _“RUBIES GO DIE.”_

Bart was on his knees, a wad of paper towels in one hand and a chisel from the art room in the other, scraping gobs of gum from the bottom seam, cursing under his breath. He was too busy to notice Jaime. Jaime lingered, unsure if he should help or walk away and pretend it never happened.

A blonde girl emerged from a classroom with a rag and spray bottle. Like Bart, she wore a ruby necklace, but unlike his blossoming spiderweb crack, hers contained a single break down the middle like an egg. She shot Jaime a _“what are you looking at?”_ glare before bending down to help her friend.

He averted his gaze and speed-walked towards the door.

 _“Whatever,”_ Jaime thought. _“Dude’s practically asking for it.”_

§

The last thing Jaime expected to see when he went downstairs for his late-night bowl of cereal was a face peering through the sliding door.

The worst part was that he didn’t see it right away. He had grabbed a bowl from the dishwasher, plucked his favorite spoon from the drawer, and poured himself a hearty serving of corn puffs. It wasn’t until Jaime opened the milk carton did the face appear in his line of sight, pale and freckled and staring straight at him.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Milk sloshed out of the carton as Jaime jumped three feet in the air.

A fist pounded the glass. “ _Idiota_ , it’s just me!”

Jaime wiped the milk from his eyes and tugged the door open. 

“What the hell, Brenda?!?”

“ _Shh._ ” Brenda pressed a finger to his lips. “Keep it down.”

He set the carton down and tossed a dish rag onto the floor. “It’s eleven-thirty. What are you doing here?”

She scoffed. “First, it’s eleven-twenty-eight.”

“Right, that matters.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Question still stands.”

Brenda flipped a chair around and took a seat. “Your family’s asleep?”

“ _Sí_.” He grabbed another chair and plunged his spoon into the bowl. 

“ _Perfecto_.”

Silence blanketed the kitchen, save for Jaime’s cereal crunching. Brenda shifted pensively, like she was hiding something. 

He said, “You’re killing me, _hermana_. Spill.”

“ _Cállate_. I’m trying to find the right words.”

Jaime couldn’t remember the last time he saw this side of her. This was Brenda Del Vecchio—headstrong, sarcastic, confident. She never hesitated, yet uncertainty radiated from her like a space heater.

He was down to his last few bites when Brenda said, “I’m gonna break up with Paco.”

Jaime choked. 

“You’re _what?!?_ ”

She crossed her arms and propped sneakered feet on the table. “I’m gonna break up with him.”

Jaime pounded his chest. “I heard you the first time, but why?”

Brenda shrugged casually. “I’m not happy.”

He stared at her as though she grew a second head, bought a dragon, and announced her plans to drop out and become an exotic dancer in Buenos Aires. 

“How? Paco’s your soulmate!”

Squeezing her sapphire necklace, Brenda bit her lip. “Things were good at first. I genuinely liked him and we had a lot of fun. But…” She sighed. “My heart’s not in it anymore. It wouldn’t be fair to keep leading him on.”

“B-but he’s your soulmate!” he sputtered. _Who wouldn’t want their soulmate?_

“He deserves someone who’ll make him happy,” she replied, “and so do I.”

Jaime gestured uselessly. “You have that! That’s the entire _point_ of soulmates! You’re supposed to love each other and make each other happy and–”

“ _Jaime_.”

He faltered. 

It didn’t make sense. Their necklaces turned blue when they met. Their stars were supposed to align that day. But looking into her chestnut eyes, Jaime could see that her stars were hurtling in chaos; a scattered disarray like the sienna freckles on her shoulder, peeking out from under her T-shirt.

“I know you wanna think life will turn out exactly as planned,” she said, “but this isn’t some cliché novel where you meet the right person and everything instantly clicks into place.”

Jaime got up and placed the bowl in the sink. “Did you tell Paco?”

“Of course not,” she snorted. “Why do you think I’m here?”

He fiddled with his pearly pendant. “When are you gonna?”

Brenda pursed her lips. “When I figure out how to let him down gently.”

Jaime twiddled his thumbs as a hush descended over them once again. Cicadas chirped, but they were mostly drowned out by the air conditioner. The moon was full and bright, but the harsh yellow kitchen lights were brighter. 

It still didn’t make sense.

“So… what are you gonna do?” he asked.

She replied, “I told you, I’m gonna tell Paco later.”

“Not about him.”

Brenda put her feet down and scooted closer. “That’s the other thing I wanted to ask you.” She placed her hand on top of his. “But you gotta swear not to tell anyone.”

Jaime gulped. “Promise.”

“The Ruby kids are having a party this Saturday in the woods behind the school,” she said. “It’s an open invite. I want you to come with me.”

His eyes widened for what was probably the hundredth time that night. “Why me?”

She smirked. “You’re the safe kid. My folks will let me go anywhere with you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he scoffed.

“Also…” Her expression softened. “You’re my best friend. I know you won’t let anything bad happen to me.”

Jaime desperately searched her face for any sign that she was joking. He hoped her hardened facade would crack and she’d say, _“Gotcha! You should’ve seen your face”_ and they’d laugh it off. 

He found none.

“My family can’t find out,” he said. “You know how they are.”

“Neither can mine. Not till I figure this out,” she replied. “That’s why I came instead of texting you—they check my messages.”

For the umpteenth time, Jaime found himself playing with his necklace, avoiding Brenda’s eyes. A party? With… _those_ people? The last thing he wanted was to get tangled in that crowd. But Brenda would still go if he said no; it’d just be at a higher risk.

“A change in scenery would be good though, don’t you think?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered.

She glanced at the wall clock. “It’s getting late. I need an answer, Jaime.”

Jaime took a deep breath. _Just to make sure she’s safe_.

“I’ll do it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday arrived a bit too quickly for his liking. 

Jaime was sitting on his porch step, nervously fiddling with his necklace, second-guessing his decision, when a red station wagon pulled up by the mailbox. The window rolled down.

“What are you waiting for, _perdedor_? Get in!” Brenda exclaimed.

Jaime slipped into the passenger’s seat. Next to him, Brenda’s leg bounced with excitement. A punk rock station played over the speakers. As soon as they left the quiet, white-picket-fence neighborhood, she turned the volume up to max. The sweat from Jaime’s palm rubbed onto his pendant, creating a shiny glaze.

“Is it too late to back out?” he asked.

“You can,” she said. “I’m not.”

Streaks of lavender cut through the starless indigo sky in smooth brush strokes, remnants of daylight fading behind the fifty-mile-per-hour blur of ebony silhouettes. Headlights and blinking traffic signals formed novas in the mist. The normally familiar landmarks—the statues and road signs and thumb-shaped rock—felt foreign to Jaime. He knew they weren’t driving towards certain death like in a horror movie, but that didn’t stop the anchor of dread from sinking into the abyss of his gut. 

Jaime swallowed. “Are we there yet?”

“You know where the school is. Why are you asking?”

“Oh. Right.” 

He sank further into the worn leather seat, going from playing with his necklace to tugging a loose thread on his gray sweatshirt. Brenda hummed along to the radio, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, either oblivious to Jaime’s nerves or pretending to be. Her window was rolled down. The cold wind ruffled her orange ponytail, oversized T-shirt, and baggy sweatpants. Jaime shivered.

She turned down the music, parked the car in front of a chain-link fence, and flicked off the headlights. Jaime wasn’t sure if the forest looked more or less ominous in the pitch dark. Brenda unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed to the back.

Jaime’s brows furrowed. “What are you–”

His eyes widened and he quickly looked away as Brenda began stripping off her top.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he said.

“ _Cálmate, mojigato_ ,” she scoffed. “I’m wearing stuff underneath. Now, where did I put those shoes…”

That didn’t stop Jaime from averting his gaze as she fumbled around in the back seat. He focused on the fence, mere inches from the bumper. A few of the diamond-shaped holes were bent out of form from the weight of people climbing it. Near the ground, like a mouse hole, a segment was cut out completely. Permanent marker graffitied the fence posts.

The “stuff underneath” did not reassure him one bit. When they emerged from the car, Jaime was met with a version of Brenda that he didn’t know _existed_. His jaw dropped.

Gone were the sweats and sneakers. In their place, she donned a Led Zeppelin crop top with a leather skirt and heavy combat boots. Her hair hung an inch above her shoulders and an array of wristbands wrapped her arms up to the elbow like rubber bandages. A different silver ring adorned every other finger as though she was gearing up to punch a werewolf. Her soulmate pendant was tucked into her shirt, the thin cord almost invisible. And _where_ did she get fishnets?!?

“Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies,” she said. 

Using the hood of the car as a step stool, Brenda hoisted herself over the fence and landed on the other side with catlike grace. 

She turned to Jaime. “Well?”

“ _Sí_. Uh…” 

He scanned the fence, unable to fathom how any part of it could make a decent foothold. It wasn’t impossibly high, but it wasn’t something he could easily step over either. Jaime climbed onto the hood and grabbed the top of the fence.

With immense struggle, he pulled himself up. As he swung over to the other side, the protruding wire snagged his pant leg. 

“Wha– _AAAH_!”

Pain shot up his shoulder as he hit the blanket of leaves with a dull _thud_. Brenda looked down at him, arms crossed.

“ _Tsk_ , it’s like you’ve never jumped a fence before.”

“Maybe because I’ve never jumped a fence before!”

Jaime brushed the dirt off and plucked a twig from his hair. 

Gesturing for him to follow, gravel crunched under Brenda’s feet as she shined her phone’s flashlight down a gravel path. 

“I’m getting some serious Blair Witch vibes here,” said Jaime.

Brenda rolled her eyes. “And I’m getting some serious _‘my friend is a chicken’_ vibes here,” she said. “This could be the best night of your life for all you know. Quit treating it like it's the worst.”

He cursed internally when she stepped off the path and into the crunching brush. “Every horror movie I’ve seen starts out this way.” 

“Then stop watching horror movies.”

She moved a low hanging branch aside and stepped into a clearing made of a circle of trees and fallen logs. A long, flat rock served as a table, holding rows of red cups and bowls of junk food. Next to that was a cooler filled with ice cubes, brown bottles, and pop cans. Brenda went for one of the cups while Jaime grabbed an orange soda from the box, trailing close behind her as she struck up a conversation with a dark-skinned boy leaning against a tree, sipping from a bottle. Jaime couldn’t keep up, not with the speaker next to him, each bass drop rattling his skull. 

“What about you?” the boy asked Jaime.

“Huh?”

“You got a name, right?” 

“Oh, um, _sí_ ,” he stammered. “I’m Jaime.”

“Virgil,” the boy said. “Nice to finally see some color around here.” He gestured to the rest of the partygoers before flicking his own ruby pendant.

Jaime hastily tucked his necklace inside his shirt. “We’re not…”

“Oh,” Virgil replied defeatedly. “I was hoping– never mind. Enjoy the party. Took me and Bart forever to plan.”

Immediately, Jaime scanned the clearing for said redhead, but there was no sign of him. Jaime did, however, recognize Gar Logan, the most popular guy in school, holding a plastic cup in one hand. Under his arm was the hot exchange student, Perdita. They stood off to the side along with two girls who were holding hands, laughing at something one of them said. Jaime did a double-take. No way all these kids were ruby necklaces. They seemed so… 

He shook his head and followed Brenda to the next conversation. 

Again, Jaime recognized both people. One was the blonde girl who was helping Bart clean his locker the other day. The other was the son of a billionaire. Jaime managed to catch bits and pieces of the conversation through the growing migraine.

“…so you guys were soulmates?” Brenda asked.

“Still are, technically,” the boy replied. “Been together for a year now.”

Wait, if they were still together, why did they break their necklaces?

Jaime didn’t realize he had said that out loud until Brenda slapped him on the arm.

“Dude!”

“ _Lo siento_ , I didn’t mean it like that!”

The boy chuckled. “It’s fine, we get that all the time.”

“The thing with soulmates,” the girl said, “is that they’re always one plus one. It doesn’t take into account that there might be room for more.”

“More?” Jaime asked.

As if on cue, a boy with a curly undercut, round sunglasses, and studded leather jacket appeared, holding three bottles in one hand and a Pringles can in the other.

“Tim! Cassie! Missed me?” he asked, throwing an arm around each person.

The other boy—Tim—scoffed. “You were gone for three minutes.” Nevertheless, he leaned into the embrace and took the chips.

Cassie wrapped her arms around the boy. “‘Course we did, Kon.” She grabbed a bottle from his hand. “We were just telling… er…” She gestured.

“Jaime.”

“Right. We were just telling Jaime about you,” she said.

“All crash things, I hope?” Kon asked.

“The crashest,” Cassie answered. She turned to Jaime. “What about you and…” She pointed to Brenda, who somehow snuck off to the other side of the clearing. “How long have you two been together?”

Laughing nervously, Jaime shook his head. “Brenda and I are just friends. Speaking of, excuse me, _por favor_.”

Nearly tripping over a rock, he jogged over to Brenda.

“Brenda! I thought we were supposed to stick together!” he exclaimed.

“No,” Brenda replied, “the deal was to keep each other safe. We don’t have to be attached at the hip to do that.” She handed him a cup and spun him back around. “Go. Talk to people. Don’t be a hermit.”

Biting his lip, he scanned the crowd. Jaime couldn’t fathom one thing he had in common with them. How was he supposed to find enough talking points to last the night? Tim lit a cigarette. Jaime coughed when the breeze carried the smoke straight to him. 

“Yeah, I wish he’d quit doing that too.”

Startled, Jaime whirled around. Leaning against a wonky-looking tree was the myth; the new kid: Bart Allen. He donned the same scarlet jacket on top of a graphic tee and ripped jeans. His hair, without the ponytail, was wild and windswept, like cirrus clouds. Tucked under one arm was a motorcycle helmet with a hand-painted lightning bolt. What surprised Jaime the most was that Bart was a full three inches shorter.

“Well?” Bart took the lollipop out of his mouth. “You gonna say something or just stare at me? Not that I mind either way.” 

He made no effort at hiding the fact that he was checking Jaime out. Jaime awkwardly took a sip of his drink, only to cough it back up as a pungent flavor coated his tongue and burned the farthest corners of his throat.

“ _¿Qué carajo?_ ” 

Bart snickered. “I take it that’s a first.” He held out a handshake. “The name’s Bart Allen.”

Jaime took it hesitantly. “Jaime. Jaime Reyes.”

“Now that we’re on a name basis, I can tell you right now, Jaime, skip the drinks. Whoever’s making them needs to _not_.” Bart tilted his head. “I’ve never seen you around. You a Nuby?”

He blinked. “Come again?”

Bart laughed. “You know, a new Ruby.”

“I’m not a… you know.” Jaime showed Bart the white necklace. “My friend wanted to check this place out. I’m her moral support.”

“That too bad,” Bart said. “‘Cause you’re cute.” He winked.

Jaime sputtered like a nun in a strip club. “Excuse me? Did you not see this?” He held up the pendant. “I’m perfectly happy waiting for my soulmate.”

Popping the lollipop back into his mouth, Bart said, “And I respect that. Different strokes for different folks. I just think the whole thing is moded.”

Tossing the cup in the trash, Jaime leaned against the opposite tree. “Why do you think it’s ‘moded’?”

“I wanna have a say in who I love. The system’s pretty messed up if you look at it.” He tossed the lollipop stick into the bushes and unwrapped another one. “Like, what if two people can’t be together ‘cause of careers or distance? What if someone’s soulmate is an abusive jerkface? What if they’re just too different?”

Jaime’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Never thought about it that way, huh?” Bart asked.

Jaime earnestly shook his head. 

“That’s okay,” Bart said. “Most people don’t think about it at all.”

Pointing at the lollipop, Jaime said with a quirked smile, “You’re gonna get cavities if you keep sucking on those.”

“That sounds like a problem for Future Bart and his dentist.”

The breeze blew another puff of smoke in their direction. Bart half-jokingly flipped Tim the bird; the latter returned the gesture but stomped the cigarette out anyway. 

Fiddling with his necklace, Jaime asked, “Don’t you wanna at least know who your soulmate is before judging?”

“Nope.” Bart shrugged casually. “Oscar Wilde once said, _‘the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death’_.”

“So… not knowing keeps it interesting?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he replied.

“Then why wear it at all?” Jaime asked. “Why not, I dunno, bury it or something?”

“Because people are always gonna want to know,” Bart said. “Might as well show them how little I care—clear up any confusion.”

Jaime crossed his arms, a hundred and one things running through his mind. Somewhere out there was Bart Allen’s soulmate, probably wondering why their necklace wasn’t turning blue. And here the kid was, jumping fences, living it up without a care in the world.

“What about your _real_ soulmate?” Jaime asked. “If you ask me, it’s pretty selfish to leave them hanging.”

“Not my headache,” Bart dismissed. “I don’t owe them anything based on what their necklace dictates. And I sure as heck don’t need a piece of jewelry to tell me if I love someone.”

Thank _goodness_ Bart wasn’t Jaime’s soulmate. Jaime wasn’t sure he could tolerate being universally bonded with someone so… so… _callous_.

“I’m done,” Jaime said. “I’m going home.”

“Really? The party just started,” Bart said.

“I don’t care. I’m out of here. Brenda!”

Brenda whirled around, nearly spilling her cup. “ _¿Qué pasa?_ ”

“We’re leaving.”

“Seriously?” she whined. “You’re, like, the biggest buzzkill _ever_.” She took another sip. “Leave if you want. I’m staying.”

“Come on,” Jaime pleaded. 

Her expression hardened. “I don’t care if it’s the drinks talking, but I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” She put a hand on her hip. “ _Subestimas a ellos._ _Estas son buenas personas_ , Jaime. I asked you to come ‘cause I wasn’t sure it’d be safe. _Ahora sé_ , so you don’t have to worry anymore. _No me va a pasar nada, lo prometo_.”

She didn’t look it, but she was the same as always—her headstrong, sarcastic, confident self. And there was no swaying Brenda Del Vecchio when she made up her mind.

Jaime sighed. “Fine. I’ll call an Uber.”

The party faded out as made his way to the edge, where he found the familiar hole at the bottom of the fence. Getting down into an army crawl, it was barely big enough for him to shimmy through. It was like squeezing an earthworm through a straw. The mud was slick against his skin and the nighttime dew dampened his sleeves as they swept it up like a snowplow.

Jaime brushed the dirt off and pulled out his phone, cursing when he couldn’t get a signal. 

There was a dull _thump_ as someone landed beside him.

“Signal’s crap here,” said Bart. “I’ve tried, like, a hundred times.”

“Fan–frickin’–tastic,” Jaime huffed, plopping himself on the curb. “Guess I’ll wait for Brenda.”

“Or…” Bart tossed the empty lollipop stick and unwrapped another—what was this, his third? “I could give you a ride.”

He strolled over to a red-and-black motorcycle and flipped open a compartment.

“Are you sure?” Jaime asked. “Don’t you wanna stay?”

“I’ll come back.” He tossed Jaime a blue-and-white helmet. “But parties are, like, _so_ moded when you know someone doesn’t wanna be there.”

Jaime slid the helmet on. “I’ve never ridden one of these.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Bart replied, tucking the lollipop into one cheek like a chipmunk. “Hold on tight and you’ll be fine.”

Hopping onto the bike, he turned on the ignition. Jaime hesitantly climbed on behind and wrapped his arms around Bart’s midriff. He noted the faint scent of oranges as the engine revved up.

“You wanna go home, right? Not a surprise location? ‘Cause I know a few,” Bart teased. “We could have a little fun.”

“No,” Jaime insisted. “Just take me home.”

“Oh well. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m gonna tell him.”

Jaime nearly slammed the locker on his hand in surprise. “Now?”

“I don’t see why not,” Brenda replied. “Rip the band-aid off, save trouble down the road.”

Glancing towards the classroom, a lump formed in his throat. Brenda should’ve been the nervous one, not him. Either she’s a hundred percent confident in her decisions or she’s a phenomenal actress. 

Hugging his textbook close, Jaime mumbled, “Let’s get this over with.”

He greeted the teacher with a quick nod as he made his way to a desk near the window. Paco’s was next to his, and in front was an empty spot for Brenda. A clock steadily ticked on the opposite wall; they still had nine minutes before the morning bell. Despite the ceiling fan spinning above their heads, the atmosphere felt thicker than the tropics. Paco, as usual, smiled and offered Jaime a bite of his trail mix. Jaime politely shook his head. Right now, he had the farthest thing from an appetite.

Brenda slid into her seat and took a deep breath. “Paco, we need to talk.”

Oh God. Oh no. This was it. Jaime sank into his seat, fidgeting with his pendant.

Paco raised an eyebrow. “ _¿Sí, chiquita?_ ”

“I think we should break up.”

There it was. 

“ _¿Por qué?_ ” Paco asked, voice oddly level and face oddly neutral for someone who just received world-shattering news.

She bit her lip. “You’re a great guy, but I don’t think this,” she gestured between them, “is gonna go anywhere. I’m not into you that way. I think we’re better off being just friends.”

Jaime braced himself for the anger. The hurt. The questions. Oh God, the _questions_ were the worst.

“That’s not all,” Paco said. “I know you, Brenda. There’s something else.”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “You’re right. There _is_ something else.”

From her backpack, Brenda fished out a heavy textbook and opened it. She unclasped her necklace and placed it on the page.

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s me. I haven’t been honest with anyone. Including myself.”

Before Jaime could blink, she slammed the book shut. 

When she opened it, a blueish-blackish-whiteish wisp rose from the charm before dissipating into thin air, like a soul leaving its body. A spark ignited in the center and blossomed until the flame swallowed the entire pendant. Jaime’s hand flew to his mouth. His wide eyes darted between his friends.

Paco breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God! I thought I was the only one.”

He unzipped his sweatshirt, revealing a nearly identical stone.

Brenda nearly sobbed with joy. “No way! I was so worried about letting you down gently that I didn’t realize–”

“Same!” Paco exclaimed. “How long?”

“A few months. You?”

“Since last year.” He laughed. “This whole time I was just doing what everyone expected and I was miserable as _heck_. Like, you’re cool, but I agree we’re better as friends. I’m not into the whole romance thing _at all_.”

Brenda giggled as she put the necklace back on. “Platonic soulmates?”

They fist-bumped and Paco nodded. “Platonic soulmates.”

Jaime reeled. What on Earth just happened?

Paco continued. “I’ve been trying to get on the scene, but I don’t know where to start.”

Grinning, Brenda hopped on top of Jaime’s desk and threw an arm around him. 

“You’re in luck,” she said. “Just this weekend Jaime and I went to an epic rager.”

“No no no.” Jaime backed out of her grip. “Count me out.”

“Why?” Brenda asked. “You looked like you were having fun with that Bart Allen.”

“I was _not_ ,” he insisted.

“You guys left together.”

“He was taking me home. You _know_ that.”

“Look, I might not know him personally, but I know most bikers don’t let just anyone on their ride,” she said.

Paco wolf-whistled under his breath. “Dang, _hermano_. I didn’t know you had game.”

“Bart and I aren’t boyfriends!”

“Nobody said you were,” Brenda pointed out.

Heat spread across Jaime’s cheeks, as did a pair of smug smiles on his friends’ faces.

“If I go with you and prove that there’s nothing between me and Bart, will you drop it?” he asked.

Brenda smirked. “Deal.”

§

The party that weekend was more of the same. Music pounded at his eardrums like a sledgehammer and a cloud of smoke threatened to suffocate him. Jaime found himself with another funny-smelling drink in a plastic cup. He forced himself to swallow a swig, only to instantly regret it as his throat burned and head buzzed. He found the farthest tree to lean against and watched his friends mill about—Brenda was chatting to Gar and Perdita while Paco was laughing at something Virgil said. On one of the log benches, Tim laid across Kon and Cassie’s lap, rambling about Area 51. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Jaime spun around, meeting Bart’s eyes. The latter leaned against a tree, lollipop in one cheek, inspecting his nails.

“ _Hijole_ , quit sneaking up on me like that!”

“It’s not like I mean to. Though, that’d be pretty funny,” Bart said.

“‘Course you don’t mean to.” Jaime playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re just short. It’s hard to see you behind that breadcrumb.”

“I’m not short, I’m bite-sized,” Bart teased.

“Don’t you mean ‘fun-sized’?”

“I know what I said.”

Jaime took another sip and gagged. He spat into a bush and chucked it away. Bart laughed, tongue poking out.

“Say, Jaime, wanna get outta here?”

“Define ‘out of here’,” Jaime replied warily.

“We could get something to eat, for starters,” Bart said. “Then go with the flow after that. See where the night takes us.” He nudged Jaime. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jaime glanced at Brenda and Paco, then back at Bart. 

“Alright,” he said. “But no funny business.”

“You’re a purist, I know,” Bart replied. “Doesn’t hurt to loosen up once in a while.”

As he hopped over the fence, Jaime shot a quick text to Brenda. They landed next to Bart’s motorcycle and Jaime caught the helmet with one hand.

“Where to?” Bart asked.

“You said you wanted food,” Jaime answered. “There’s that place down the road.”

Bart grinned. “I like how you think.”

And that was how, thirty-five minutes later, they found themselves sitting cross-legged in the middle of an empty CVS parking lot, surrounded by Chinese takeout boxes, laughing obscenely loudly over the way Bart stuck his chopsticks up his teeth like walrus tusks. Not a car disturbed them; not a cloud threatened to rain on their picnic. The rich smell of fried noodles mingled with fresh-cut grass and perennial flowers. Sweatshirt tied around his waist, the crisp night air cooled Jaime’s skin. Bart’s presence warmed him right up again.

“Wait, you’re telling me that your prom date was a chicken?”

“A _fried_ chicken,” Jaime corrected, giggling. “Brenda gave me a hundred bucks, my sister helped dress it up, and while everyone was slow dancing, I ate it.”

Tears streamed down Bart’s face as he clutched his side, wheezing like a balloon with asthma. “Dude, that’s amazing! I’m jealous!”

Jaime threw his head back. “Brenda’s got pictures.”

“Even better!”

Bart scooched closer with his chopsticks. Before Jaime could react, Bart nabbed a bite from his portion.

“ _Ese_ , get your own.”

“I just wanted to try some,” Bart teased, mouth full.

“You ordered the same thing!”

Bart reached again, but Jaime was faster. In one swift move, he held the paper box out of Bart’s reach. He dumped the remaining noodles into his mouth and swallowed as though they were liquid—a spicy, salty blend of chili oil and soy sauce.

“No fair!” Bart whined.

“How’s that unfair? I paid for these,” Jaime replied.

“You–” Pausing, Bart leaned forward and plucked something from Jaime’s cheek: a single black eyelash, curved like half a heart. “I’m keeping this. Scavenger’s rights.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Scavenger’s rights?”

“Ruby slang,” Bart said. “Basically ‘finders-keepers’.”

“So there’s ‘crash’ and ‘mode’ and then there’s ‘scavenger’s rights’?” Jaime asked. “Is that all?”

“There’s ‘meat’, but you’re not allowed to say that,” Bart explained. “I don’t like it either, but some folks wanna reclaim it—to each their own. What else… we got ‘traught’, ‘whelmed’, ‘aster’… enough to fill a dictionary.”

Jaime chuckled. “Feels like I’m learning a new language.”

“More or less.” Bart shrugged. 

“Where does it even come from?”

“Same as everything else: history.” Bart stretched his long limbs and leaned back as though the asphalt was a mattress.

Resting on his elbow, Jaime asked, “History?”

“They don’t teach this stuff in school,” Bart hummed. “A while back—the Sixties or something—the Ruby scene was, like, completely underground. Y’know, ‘cause it was illegal to break your soulmate necklace. Then one night these cops crashed a bar in Gotham City and folks decided that enough was enough, you know? One thing led to another and… here we are.”

“Wait,” Jaime interjected. “Why’s crash a good thing then, if it’s what the cops did?”

Bart smirked. “They crashed our party. Now we’re crashing their entire system.”

“And… ‘mode’? Why’s that bad?”

“That’s hard to explain. It’s like… the default setting in society, you know? And obviously, we don’t vibe with that.”

“What about ‘scavenger’s rights’?”

“Rubies are more likely to be disowned or evicted,” Bart said. “It sorta stems from homelessness survival tactics? I dunno, ask Tim’s brother.”

“I never knew,” Jaime murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s the system that failed, not you.”

“Still.”

Jaime felt a playful slug on the arm.

“Ow!” he exclaimed. “What was that for?!?”

“Enough serious crap. You’re it!”

Faster than a roadrunner, Bart sprang to his feet and sprinted down the pavement.

“Oh, you’re on!” Jaime grinned.

He jumped up and hit the ground running, tailing the younger boy as they rounded the corners of the perfectly square lot. The wind their bodies created was enough to send Jaime’s hair flying in all directions. Every time he got close—every time he brushed the hem of Bart’s jacket, the younger boy kicked it up a notch, slipping through Jaime’s fingers. 

“Can’t catch me, I’m the fastest kid alive!”

Jaime lunged forward. Their bodies collided as they toppled onto the spongy grass median; their lips brushed for a brief second. The older boy snapped back like a taut rubber band, his lips tingling like static electricity. Bart remained where he was, hair fanned out like peacock feathers, laughing as if Jaime poked a ticklish spot.

“ _Lo siento_ ,” Jaime stammered. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Dude, quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” Bart replied, pulling himself up. “Gravity happens.”

Jaime pointed to the sky. “Look, a shooting star.”

“Crash! Make a wish.” Bart squeezed his eyes shut.

Jaime’s eyes lingered on Bart before he turned his attention back to the speckled sky.

Bart opened one eye. “What’d you wish for?”

“ _Ese_ , it won’t come true if you tell.”

“That’s why I wished for homework,” Bart said. “Boom! System hacked.”

Jaime laughed.

§

Midnight-thirty.

Jaime was beyond late. He was dead. Dunzo. Bart might as well have told him “rest in peace” instead of “catch you later” when he dropped Jaime off. It was a good thing the bike had a muffler because the last thing Jaime needed was for the entire neighborhood to witness his slow, agonizing demise. The only good sign was that the lights were off. Of course, that could also mean his parents were lurking in the dark, waiting.

He shook his head. Brenda was right—he’s been watching too many movies.

Still, the front door was too risky. The porch creaked, the hinges squeaked. Not to mention Milagro’s toys scattered across the hall.

After bidding Bart adieu, Jaime swung around and climbed over the picket fence—which felt more like climbing into a megalodon’s jaw. He landed between the perfectly planted rows of pansies and trod lightly, brushing his footprints away with a long bundle of grass.

The sliding door hissed as it opened. Jaime cringed. He slipped through the narrow gap and cringed again as it clicked upon closing. Tiptoeing across the pitch dark kitchen, he smelled the remnants of dinner—fajitas, his mother’s favorite. 

He stuck close to the wall as he made his way up the stairs. His father’s monster snore echoed from the master bedroom. Heart hammering through his ribcage, Jaime blindly felt along the walls until he found his room’s door.

“ _¿Dónde estabas?_ ”

Biting his tongue to keep from screaming, Jaime spun around.

“Milagro, what are you doing? It’s late,” he whisper-shouted.

She crossed her arms over her stuffed unicorn. “I could say the same for you. I’m telling Mamá and Papá.”

“No!” _Think fast._ “I’ll, uh, give you all my Halloween candy. Whatever I get is all yours.”

Milagro pretended to think. “Hm… deal! And make sure there are extra Kit Kats.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jaime said.

As he opened the door, she added, “I have a question.”

“ _¿Sí, hermanita?_ ”

“Are you, like, dating him?”

His brows furrowed. “Dating who?”

“The boy who dropped you off, _duh_ ,” she replied. 

“W-what–” he sputtered. “Of course not. He’s not my soulmate. Now go to bed.”

Jaime gently closed the door behind him, shed his sweatshirt, and flopped onto the neatly made bed. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

One ring.

Two.

 _Click_.

“Jaime! What’s up?” Bart asked.

Jaime smiled and gazed out the window, pulling the curtain aside to let the cratered blood moon stream its light on his tiny corner of the world.

“Not much,” he replied. He could hear the engine purring in the background. “Are you still on the road?”

“Mayhaps,” Bart hummed. “Don’t worry, it’s a stoplight.”

“No distracted riding,” Jaime chided.

“Nothing I haven’t done before. I’m pretty much a pro.”

“Sure,” Jaime snorted. “Don’t come to me when you crash.”

“Crash is a good thing though.”

“You know what I mean, _hermano_.” A soft smile formed on Jaime’s face. “I’m hanging up. Call me when you’re not operating a motor vehicle.”

Less than a minute after he hung up, the phone buzzed.

“ _No way_ you’re home already,” he said.

“I’m not.” He could hear the _pop_ of Bart’s sucker. “I pulled over.”

Jaime sat up abruptly. “ _¿Por qué?_ ”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Sinking back into the cloud of pillows and sea of fuzzy blankets, Jaime unclasped his necklace and set it on the nightstand.

“About what?”

“Anything,” Bart replied nonchalantly.

Jaime chuckled. “Anything it is.”


	5. Chapter 5

With his half-unzipped backpack hanging over his shoulder, Jaime flipped through his notebook. He turned to Tye. “What’d you get for number sixteen?”

“Uh…” Tye pulled out his phone. “Seventy-two.”

“Alright, one of us is _way_ off, ‘cause I got three point four,” Jaime said.

The clamor of slamming lockers and chattering filled the air as people packed their books and musical instruments. Jaime wrinkled his nose as a sweaty football player shamelessly peeled his shirt off in front of half the student body. The odor was immediately evened out by a suffocating cloud of Axe. Whatever happened to using the locker rooms?

They turned the corner. Gathered around a locker was a gaggle of teens, phones pointed, whispering and giggling. Jaime couldn’t get a proper view above the sea of heads. Not that he needed to. His stomach lurched. Tye left his side, joining the bystanders.

Tye laughed loudly. “Man, whoever did this is a genius! Right, Jaime?”

Jaime’s mouth went dry. “I just remembered, I, um, left something in my last class.”

He darted to the one classroom—the one teacher—he trusted. Thankfully, the room was empty, save for a bronze-haired man in a blue dress shirt holding a steaming “World’s Okayest Teacher” mug. Posted on the window, among numerous corny math puns, was a book-sized sticker reading, “this space welcomes everyone”.

As soon as he saw Jaime, the teacher’s eyes lit up. “Jaime, my boy, how can I help you?”

With one hand, Jaime fidgeted with his necklace. With the other, he gestured down the hall. “Something is happening at the lockers. I need your help, Mr. Kord.”

The teacher’s expression hardened. He placed the mug down and rolled up his sleeves. “Show me the way.”

Jaime nodded and led them to the scene, where the crowd seemed to have doubled in sixty seconds. He lingered behind, tucking his necklace into his shirt, allowing the teacher to take over. The last thing he needed was to be known as a snitch. 

Coincidentally, another adult—Jaime recognized him as the P.E. instructor—was being led to the scene by a blonde girl. At first, he thought it was Cassie, but that theory was debunked as soon as he heard the Eastern European accent.

The gym teacher blew his whistle. “Alright, everyone, scram! Nothing to see here!”

“That’s right,” Mr. Kord added. “This kind of behavior will not be tolerated. Whoever is responsible will be disciplined accordingly.” 

Grumbling, the kids dispersed, as though they were mosquitoes and the teachers were spraying insect repellant. Jaime caught Tye mumbling, “Buzzkill” under his breath. 

The gym teacher added, exclaiming, “And if I find pictures online, you’ll be running laps until your shoes melt!”

Jaime tore his eyes from the carnage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you sooner.”

“It’s okay.” The teacher placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You did good.”

“So did you, Perdita,” the gym teacher said. “It’s not always easy doing the right thing.”

“Thank you. That means a lot,” said Perdita. She plucked one of the many flimsy toilet paper squares from the locker. “I assume Bart does not know?”

“I don’t think so.” Jaime nudged a trash can closer with his foot. 

“Don’t worry, kids,” said the gym teacher. “The custodians can take care of it.”

“Right.” Mr. Kord adjusted his necktie. “You should be getting on your way.” He turned to the coach, a twinkle in his eye. “Laps again, Mikey?”

“Hey, sometimes I make ‘em do push-ups.”

As the teachers left, still bantering, Jaime set his bag down and began peeling the sticky notes and tissue paper off the rust-colored locker, dropping them unceremoniously into the bin. 

Perdita fished a pack of wipes out of her purse. “I wish I could stay longer and help,” she bemoaned, “but I have to go. I will be late for debate club.”

“You’re fine,” he said, taking the wipes. “Thanks anyway. It’s good to know I’m not alone.”

She smiled. “People like us must stick together.”

Jaime opened his mouth to correct her, only to close it. He focused on plucking the trash and wiping the marker graffiti. It was easier to turn on autopilot than read what the vandals wrote. Even then, Jaime couldn’t ignore when he came across a paper effigy with a ruby necklace drawn on, stabbed through with toothpicks like Julius Caesar. Holding back the urge to vomit, he chucked it into the trash; it landed in a bed of bloodstained wipes.

“I expected it to be worse.”

Jaime glanced over his shoulder as Bart joined him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything,” Jaime said.

“Dude, what did I say about unnecessary apologies?” Bart replied. “Plus, you’re doing more than, like, ninety percent of people.”

They fell into a rhythm, working in near silence, except for Bart’s soft humming. How he could act so… _normal_ was beyond Jaime. The entire situation felt like chugging sour milk. 

Pretty soon the tall plastic bin was filled to the brim with used wipes, crumpled paper, and crusty, dried-up wads of gum. Jaime returned the trash can to where he found it. Bart tossed his textbooks into the locker before slamming it shut and sliding his back down it. Jaime couldn’t discern an expression from behind the flyaway strands hanging in front of the younger boy’s face. 

Bart drew a knee to his chest. “Two weeks. I can’t get two frickin’ weeks.”

Jaime sat down beside him, the speckled tile cold beneath his palms. “That must suck.”

The words felt hollow. Of course, they would. What could he say that would make this better? No condoling words could undo the mess they just had to clean. Sympathy didn’t buy back lost time or erase ugly images from their minds. Jaime had half the mind to wrap an arm around Bart’s shoulders, but he blocked that thought before it could travel to the rest of his body. Instead, he opted to be the silent company. 

“I was afraid this would happen,” Bart said. 

Jaime tilted his head, waiting for the other boy to continue. It wouldn’t be for another couple of minutes, but he didn’t mind waiting.

“I thought…” Bart sighed. “I thought moving would change things. I thought I wouldn’t have to be scared of waking up and going to class. I thought people here would be _different_.”

“I can’t imagine…” Jaime murmured. “ _Lo siento_.”

“Whatever.” Bart shook his head and pulled himself up. “Progress isn’t linear. No use getting hung up on this stuff.”

Jaime wanted to say how it absolutely _was_ worth it to get hung up on these things. He wanted to lament about how it wasn’t fair, because nobody should be tormented for something as pointless as a dumb jewel. It was wrong. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Perhaps it was his brain preventing him from overstepping. 

Bart unlocked the locker again, allowing Jaime to glance inside.

“You skate?” Jaime asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Bart replied, tucking an orange-and-gold bike helmet under his arm. “Gotta get into those ‘no motorcycle allowed’ places somehow.”

Jaime smiled. “That’s, uh, crash! Did I say that right?”

“A-plus for effort,” Bart laughed.

He pulled a bouquet of lollipops from his backpack and offered it to Jaime. Jaime graciously accepted a blue raspberry one and popped it into his mouth. Bart did the same with a pale red strawberry one.

“What’s with you and lollipops?” Jaime asked.

“I dunno. What’s with you and that thing?” Bart pointed to Jaime’s pendant, which Jaime didn’t even realize he was fiddling with. 

“Point taken,” Jaime replied, grabbing the skateboard from his bag. “You doing anything after this?”

“Depends. You?”

“I was gonna hit the park,” Jaime said. “You wanna come?”

Bart grinned. “Sounds crash!”

§

“ _Ese_ , are you gonna skate or are you just gonna stare at your phone?” Jaime asked, looking up from the bottom of the half-pipe, laughing.

“Shush, there’s a Luvdisc somewhere,” Bart replied, holding his phone up as though he was searching for a signal. His board was tucked under his arms and his legs swung over the edge; his leather jacket was tied around his waist and his hair was once again pulled back as the afternoon sun warmed the eggshell-white concrete jungle gym.

“I didn’t know you played Pokémon Go,” Jaime said, reaching for his phone. “I haven’t checked mine in forever. Most folks stopped playing last year.”

“Yeah, well, they’re missing out. Do you see it?”

Jaime pointed across the street. “I think it’s over there.”

“Crash!”

Without looking up from his phone, Bart slapped his board onto the pavement. It teetered on the ledge before slipping away from its rider. His eyes widened and he sprinted after it in alarm. Jaime managed to sidestep the runaway skateboard, but in doing so put himself in point-blank range of the bullet known as Bart Allen. Jaime’s arms instinctively wrapped around Bart as they collided with the ground.

“We gotta stop ending up like this,” he said.

Bart smirked. “I recall it ending a little differently last time.”

Jaime’s cheeks flamed. “You know that doesn’t count!”

“Why not?” Bart teased. “I’m a great kisser. I bet that’s more than can be said for you.”

Jaime sputtered indignantly. “You’re not wrong, but–”

“Exactly.”

Jaime glanced from his arms to Bart’s face, which was dangerously close. They were lucky the park was empty, or else they would’ve been run over by another skater.

“We should probably get up,” he said.

“Right,” Bart coughed, pulling himself to his feet and offering Jaime a hand.

“So did you find that Luvdisc?” Jaime asked, accepting the hand up.

“No, but I caught something better.” Bart winked.

Face growing hotter, Jaime turned to the text that appeared on his screen. 

“My mom’s asking where I am,” he said. “One sec.”

He quickly typed, **“At the skate park with a friend.”**

A few seconds after it sent, he got another text reading, **“Dinner’s almost ready,** **_mijito_ ** **. Why don’t you invite your friend?”**

Jaime sheepishly turned to Bart. “She wants to invite you for dinner.”

“Sure, I’ll come. Meeting the ‘rents already, I see,” Bart joked.

“You know how moms are like.”

“Nope,” Bart chirped. “I live with my uncle and aunt.”

Jaime gestured back in the direction of the school. “We can grab your bike and head on over.”

§

Inviting Bart to dinner was quickly falling into the “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad ideas” stack in Jaime’s mental filing cabinet.

The beginning was fine, if not a bit boring. Bart tucked his necklace into his shirt before they even got on the road. They got to the Reyes house and were met with the typical “nice to meet you” and “how was your day?”

Not even three bites in, the questions started.

“So, Bart,” Alberto began, “what kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Oh, um…” Bart paused in the middle of cutting his food. “You know, the usual—art, video games, and, like, hanging out.”

Jaime mentally implored his father not to keep going, as though he could reach the man telepathically. Bianca side-eyed at her husband but said nothing. The most comfortable person at the table was Milagro, who was perfectly content drowning her enchiladas in melted cheese.

“Interesting,” Alberto said. “What about school?”

“Uh… what about it?” Bart replied.

“Your grades. What are they like?”

Bart glanced at Jaime. “Um… they’re pretty good.” 

“And what are your plans for after?”

“Physics,” Bart answered. “Either Ivy Town or one of the schools back home.”

Bianca hummed, impressed. But Alberto continued, his expression unchanged. “And where exactly is ‘home’?”

“Central City. I moved over the summer.”

Jaime opened his mouth. “Papá, I really think–”

Alberto waved him off. “Central City is a nice place. Why would you move?”

Bart shifted. “With all due respect, sir, that’s kind of personal.”

“I understand,” said the man. “What about your family? What are they like?”

Jaime resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why wasn’t his father stopping? Looking at his plate, Jaime set his fork down. He didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

“They’re like a regular family? I live with my uncle and aunt,” said Bart.

“What about your parents?”

“Papá!” Jaime exclaimed. 

At the same time, his mother gaped. “Alberto! If he doesn’t want to tell, you have to respect that.”

“ _Lo siento_.” This time, Alberto turned to Jaime. “So, _mijo_ , how did you two meet?”

“Oh, um…” Jaime wrung his hands. “At an after-school thing?” His voice squeaked toward the end.

“What after school thing?” Bianca asked. “Is it a club?”

“Yeah!” Jaime snapped his fingers. “It’s, um…” _Think, think._ “Debate club! We’re on Perdita’s team.” He glanced at Bart.

The latter nodded. “Yep. Debate club. Where we debate about things and stuff.”

“Ooh!” Bianca leaned forward. “What are you debating right now?”

Jaime’s heart pounded in his ears. “Um, food.”

She looked puzzled. “Food?”

Bart cut in. “He meant the correlation between gentrification and food deserts in low-income areas.”

Jaime pointed sheepishly. “What he said.”

“Alright,” Alberto said. “Bart, have you met your soulmate yet?”

Coughing into his arm, Jaime did his best to mask his astonishment.

“No, sir,” Bart answered calmly. “Just like most folks my age. Say, Jaime, um, where’s the bathroom?” 

“Down the hall, to the right,” Jaime replied.

“I’m not good with directions. Can you show me?”

Jaime met Bart’s eyes. The _“we need to talk”_ look was abundantly clear—or, at least, abundantly clear to Jaime. He nodded and stood up, motioning Bart to follow him.

As soon as they were out of the family’s earshot, Bart drew his keys from his jacket. “I don’t wanna make a scene, but I can tell when I’m not welcome. Tell your parents, I dunno, something came up or whatever.”

“Hermano.” Jaime grabbed Bart’s wrist. “They didn’t mean it like that.”

Bart scoffed. “Yeah, well, I can’t afford to stick around and figure out what they actually mean.” He pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll see you at school.”

Pursing his lips, Jaime relented. The goodbyes were clipped; the air was thick like dough. The screen door rattled as it swung shut behind Bart. Jaime flinched.

He whirled around and came face-to-face with his father, who had his arms crossed.

“Let me see it,” Alberto said.

“See what?” Jaime asked.

“ _Tu colgante_ ,” said the man. “Let me see it.”

Jaime untucked his necklace from his shirt and his father nodded approvingly at the pearl pendant. 

“Good,” Alberto said. “Just making sure.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Making sure what?”

“That you’re… never mind. Go do your homework.” Alberto pointed upstairs.

Jaime didn’t need to be told twice—his room was the only place he wanted to be right now. He let the door close a little harder than usual and pulled out his phone.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

 _Click_.

In the background, an engine died down, but the _whoosh_ of the freeway persisted.

“What is it, Jaime?”

“Bart! Before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m so sorry about my parents. They’re pretty old fashioned and—”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Bart replied. “I’m used to it.”

Silence befell the line. The _tick-tick-tick_ of Jaime’s clock was more deafening than the semi-truck honking on Bart’s end. Feeling as though he was suffocating within the muted blue walls, Jaime squeezed the phone between his ear and shoulder and opened the window. His muscles immediately relaxed, as though the sky itself invited itself in, painting him in warm yellows, oranges, and reds.

Bart tapped his foot. “Is there anything else?”

“You shouldn’t be!” Jaime blurted.

“Huh?”

He took off the necklace and tossed it over his shoulder into the mountain of dirty laundry at the edge of his closet. He ran his hand over his face.

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” he repeated. “You did nothing wrong. Heck, your necklace wasn’t even out. My dad was just being a jerk and stereotyping. It’s so… so… _moded_!”

Bart sighed. “That’s just how the world is. I’ve learned my way around it, as have millions of others.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to work around it!” Jaime exclaimed.

“Jaime, it’s getting dark. I need to go home,” Bart said plainly. “I’ll call you later.”

“ _Sí_. Fine. Drive safe.”

Bart hung up first. Jaime chucked the phone onto the bed, cursing.

_Stupid universe._

_Stupid necklaces._

_Stupid, stupid system._

Jaime hoped to God he’ll never meet his soulmate.


	6. Chapter 6

September bled into a scarlet October, and while most people were buying costumes and carving pumpkins, the Ruby kids had a different plan. 

Jaime had to watch his step as ne navigated the maze of people, trying to keep up with Bart without tripping on the latter’s flowing cape. His heart hammered not just from the hundred-mile-per-hour motorcycle ride, but at the prospect of his parents finding out that he wasn’t studying at the library like he told them.

A few paces ahead, Kon had one arm around each of his partners, ranting about his geometry class; a few paces behind, Brenda was trading two five-dollar bills for a ten from Paco. The smell of sweet funnel cakes and salty cheese curds wafted through the air—and they weren’t even at the entrance yet. Jaime double-checked that his necklace was tucked safely inside his jacket.

Billowing at the top of a pole was a victory flag—a black square with a large red diamond in the middle. Of course, Jaime didn’t need to stretch his neck to see it. It was everywhere—printed on posters, drawn in sidewalk chalk, ironed on Kon’s t-shirt. And, of course, on Bart’s cape. They converged at a banner hanging above the park gates reading, _“Welcome to Ruby Fest!”_

Though the sky was cloudy, the atmosphere was anything but. Alternative rock thrummed through a pair of humongous stereos. Fallen leaves blanketed the wet cobblestone like rose petals. Tables and tents lined the path like LEGO bricks, and just beyond that was a stage hosting local musicians and drag performers. Some were wearing matching t-shirts with signs that offering free mom and dad hugs—which Paco, Cassie, and Bart graciously accepted. There were jokes and laughter; folks exchanged hugs and kisses and compliments all around him. Jaime had never seen anyone so happy.

He tripped over his shoelace. Simultaneously, Bart turned around to say something. Only this time, instead of hitting the ground, Bart’s arms cushioned the fall.

Brenda walked by. “You good, _hermano_?”

“Yeah,” Jaime said, eyes still on Bart, “this happens a lot.”

As quickly as they fell together, they pulled apart. They kept walking, side-by-hand, knuckles occasionally brushing. That was only because the place was packed like sardines. Nothing else.

“This is my first Ruby Fest,” Jaime murmured.

Bart rolled his eyes fondly. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

Jaime’s face heated up. But Bart didn’t notice—he was more interested in the ice cream truck parked past the fountain with carnival music looping over its speakers.

“Come on!” Bart exclaimed excitedly. “I think they have rocky road!”

Jaime followed and pulled out his wallet, only to slide it back in his pocket when he noticed a crowd of people on the other side of the iron barricade with matching picket signs. One man had a bullhorn, yelling something that the rest then echoed.

“Bart, who are those guys?” Jaime asked.

Bart faltered. A smile spread across his face. “They’re the perfect photo op!”

The others had beaten them to it. While Cassie held the camera, Kon dipped Tim down and pressed their lips together in front of a dozen disgusted faces—ones that Jaime would treasure for years to come.

Bart handed Jaime his phone. “My turn!”

Standing in front of a shouting woman, he flashed a grin and threw up a peace sign. 

Smiling, Jaime snapped the picture. “ _Fantástico_.”

As he handed the phone back, the woman shouted, “You’re all going to hell!”

“Well, duh,” Bart replied, flipping his hair. “My kingdom needs me.”

Jaime nearly choked on his spit in laughter.

“You’re a sin!” yelled another.

Bart waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Why, you tempted?”

“You all deserve to be shot!” screamed a third person.

He whirled around, eyes narrowing. “Say that again.”

The man opened his mouth. “You deserve to be—”

_POW!_

A sickening crack ripped through the air. Bart drew his hand back, the flecks on his knuckles mirroring the sudden bloodlust in his eyes. The man fell back, clutching his face; two others caught him. Jaime’s eyes widened.

“Bart—”

Another punch was thrown, and Jaime barely managed to pull Bart out of the way of a heavily-tattooed fist. Before either boy could react, Kon flew in and backhanded the protestor. 

“That’s for going after my friend!”

Fear coursed through Jaime’s body as two police officers marched over. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which side they were on.

Cop Number One—or Skinhead Number One, as it should be put—despite being an inch shorter, grabbed Kon by the shirt and yanked the boy forward. Kon’s ribs slammed into the barricade with a _CLANG_. Paco rolled up his sleeves and threw himself in between—a meat wall of sorts—forcing the cop to loosen his grip and allowing Kon to slip away. 

“Go back to where you came from,” a woman leered.

_BLAM!_

The woman reeled back, clutching her throat, gasping for breath.

Brenda growled, “Not in my house, _puta_!”

That woman swung her fist. She almost missed, but her ring managed to slice across Brenda’s skin, leaving a long, shallow scratch beneath her eye. Cassie rushed to the girl’s side. Jaime would’ve too, if he hadn’t spotted the second cop sneaking up on Paco with handcuffs.

Inhibitions throws aside, Jaime slapped the handcuffs away from Skinhead Two, grabbed Bart’s hand, and made a break for it.

They didn’t get far at all before they were cut off by Skinhead One. The cop drew his nightstick. 

“You! You started this!”

Like a baseball bat, the man swung his baton toward the side of Bart’s head.

Time slowed.

Jaime leaped in front of its warpath, arm raised over his head. 

A prickling, burning sensation shot through his arm as the nightstick collided with his elbow. He fell to his knees, biting his tongue so hard that he tasted blood.

“Jaime!”

“Get out of here!” Jaime exclaimed. “Go!”

“Like hell.” Bart wrapped Jaime’s good arm over his shoulder. “Come on, I think Cassie’s got something. Cassie, over here!”

As Jaime hugged the injured part to his body, he noticed that the chaos had died down. Instead of two dozen people shouting and trying to attack each other from over a barrier, only one person stood, facing the police and picketers.

“—nd my family funds this entire damn city!” Tim waved the brightly-lit phone screen as he harangued the crowd. “I have connections and you can bet I’ll use them to end you guys. All of you! And if I see any of you going near any of my friends again—”

Jaime stopped paying attention as he and Bart sat down at a fountain’s edge, farther away from everything that was happening. As they waited for Cassie to retrieve supplies, Jaime rolled up his sleeve. There was no blood, and nothing felt broken, but he could feel the bruise blossoming beneath his skin. But for now, it just looked a little pink and inflamed. But when Jaime looked back up, Bart was on the brink of hyperventilating. 

“Bart, _ese_.” Jaime placed a hand on top of Bart’s. “It’s okay. We’re safe now.”

Before Bart could blink it away, a single tear escaped his eye. “It’s not okay! You got hurt because of me!”

“It’s not even that bad,” Jaime said. “Cassie’s grabbing some ice; it’ll be gone in no time. Everything is alright.”

Bart shook his head furiously. “No! It’s not. It’s—” He hiccuped. 

Nearly knocking them into the fountain, Bart threw his arms around Jaime and buried his face in the crook of Jaime’s neck. A thousand questions buzzed through Jaime’s head. His body listened to none of them. Instead, his arms circled Bart’s waist, letting the tremors run their course.

§

Jaime couldn’t help but marvel at how soft Bart’s hair was.

Below them, the hills rolled like bolts of violet fabric. The trees were frayed knots, and pins of people clustered on certain patches—Brenda and Paco; Tim, Kon, and Cassie among them. According to the map, somewhere down there was the lake where fireworks were being shot from an island, but Jaime didn’t care enough to find it. The _boom_ was a dull, muffled burst in his eardrums, like a lazy mailman knocking on the door.

In a way, they scored the best spot. Under the bronze cherry tree, they were far from the rambunctious, chattering crowds and blinding flashes and eardrum-tearing explosions. Bart had insisted on staying back—something about not liking fireworks.

Somewhere during their mindless conversation, Jaime found himself holding Bart’s head in his lap, carding his fingers through the silky sienna strands. Who knew fire could feel so nice? Stifling a yawn, Bart scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Jaime’s middle. Once again, there was the sweet scent of oranges and sugar—as though Bart himself was one giant piece of candy.

“Bart?”

“Hm?” Bart’s eyes, which were previously sliding shut, were now wide open.

“What… _happened_ back there?” Jaime asked.

“S’nothing,” Bart mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jaime’s eyebrows creased. “You made, like, a complete one-eighty from how you normally are. _Of course_ I’m gonna worry.”

Bart sighed and looked away. Oddly enough, it was then that Jaime’s brain decided to notice the things he hadn’t before. Namely, the way the colors never stopped swirling in Bart’s eyes. Like if the clouds were green, that was what a misty morning would look like. Jaime’s gaze traced over delicate eyelashes into the minefield of freckles. They mirrored the fireworks almost exactly—tiny clusters of red sparks against an ivory sky.

“M’sorry I freaked out earlier,” said Bart. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, _chiquito_.” Jaime brushed a lock from Bart’s eyes to get a better view. “Wanna talk about it?”

Silence hung like a necklace. The seconds ticked by—a pendant pendulum swinging back and forth. 

“I don’t like people taking hits for me,” Bart said.

“But you would’ve gotten seriously hurt!” Jaime countered.

“I don’t care,” Bart deadpanned. “I don’t want anyone taking any hits for me.”

Dewdrops clung to Bart’s feather-like eyelashes. Jaime’s hand scoured the grass forest until he found Bart’s. If he pulled Bart in, that was just to preserve warmth. An explanation dangled in the air, waiting to be spoken. But Jaime was content with waiting.

After a few minutes, Bart began. “On my sixteenth birthday, I went to a nightclub.”

Jaime wasn’t sure where this was going. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“My cousin came with me. He let me use his old driver’s license as a fake—bouncers don’t check carefully and we look the same anyway.” Bart’s voice waved. “I-It was a Ruby place. He and I were both out, but we only knew each other. I’d never seen so many folks like me in one place. For a few hours, it was like I snuck into heaven.”

Jaime gulped. “And?”

“We were at the bar when it happened,” he said. “There was no warning. One moment we were ordering drinks. The next, everyone was running and hiding. I… I remember this man. A-and he had a…”

“It’s okay,” Jaime assured. “You don’t have to go further if you don’t wanna.”

“I was one of the lucky ones,” he whispered. “But my cousin…” 

Bart quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve, a single sob escaping his lips. Jaime's heart ached for the younger boy. _It wasn’t fair_. He squeezed Bart close and felt Bart melt in like a candle. They stayed like that until Bart’s hiccups subsided into soft snores. Each warm breath tickled Jaime’s skin. He slowly lowered Bart’s head onto his lap before pulling out his phone. The fireworks beat in time with his heart.

 _Ba-boom_.

**[Am I a Ruby?]**

_Ba-boom_.

**[How to know if you’re a Ruby]**

_Ba-boom_.

**[Ruby quiz]**

Was breaking a soulmate necklace really that bad? If the universe was so dead set on fated love, why not craft everyone’s minds and hearts to feel the same way? Articles butted heads, offering no real answers. One side said it was okay; the other, like his parents, condemned it. It was puzzling. Disorienting. Pulling him in different directions like a tug-of-war between what he knows and what he _thought_ he knew.

Bart’s eyelids fluttered, and along with it, Jaime’s chest. The former was fast asleep—mumbling, dreaming. Exiting the Buzzfeed page and tucking his phone away, the older boy went back to playing with Bart’s _incredibly_ soft hair. 

Jaime wasn’t sure what came over him when he took off his jacket and draped it over Bart, other than that it just felt _right_.


	7. Chapter 7

As he waited for his third tray to finish baking, it dawned on Jaime that maybe he should talk to someone about what’s going on.

His mom was running errands and his dad took Milagro to a doctor’s appointment. Brenda and Paco probably had better things to do on a sunny Saturday. Tye and Asami were off the table a long time ago. Bart… 

Jaime shook his head and grounded himself in the sugar cookie aroma wafting through the kitchen. He opened the window a crack, letting the heat escape and the breeze cool the sweat on his skin. The afternoon light shined on the ingredients strewn across the counter. Leftover dough was stretched over the cutting board with circles punched through. The oven hummed like a sleeping robot; its warmth rippled through the room. The refrigerator emitted a low, steady beat in tandem, like they were a duo at a talent show. Jaime exhaled, drumming his fingers on the center island.

With the cookies in the oven, Jaime was left with nothing but his thoughts.

He’d come to accept that soulmates weren’t his thing, yet his necklace was still intact because his parents would _freak_. The prospect of hiding—possibly _forever_ —knawed at his chest.

But what about his friends? Sooner or later someone’s going to catch on. If he was lucky, he might just wind up having a heart-to-heart with Brenda or Tim or someone else. Worst case scenario… 

From there, his mind jumped to Bart—a leap over the chasm into brand new territory.

Jaime would be lying if he said Bart was just a friend. Friends didn’t admire each other’s eyes when the world wasn’t looking. Friends didn’t linger over every brush and graze. And friends sure as _hell_ didn’t dream of kissing each other under the moonlight. Or over a fancy dinner. Or on the beach as the sunset paints a perfect picture of—

Yeah. Jaime wasn’t even going to _try_ and fool himself.

He buried his face in his arms. 

_How did his life come to this?_

The doorbell ringing startled him out of his thoughts. He figured it was just his parents unable to open the garage or something. Jaime tossed the flour-covered apron aside.

His jaw dropped. “Bart, what happened to you?!?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Bart smiled weakly. “Hey.”

Jaime crossed his arms, brows furrowing. “‘Hey’ doesn’t answer my question.”

Wincing, Bart shifted his weight to one leg—and it was no wonder why. The clothing around his left knee was dark and damp and torn, as though crudely slashed with dull scissors. One sleeve was rolled up, revealing a long, thin cut from his elbow to the back of his hand. A bright red bump rose from under his hair like a volcano and marble-sized bruises peppered his face in an arc right below his eye, discoloring the crimson freckles. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Jaime said as he helped Bart into the kitchen.

Bart lowered himself onto a chair and propped the injured leg on another one. “I crashed my bike. Your place was the closest.”

Jaime glanced out the window. Not a single ding marred the pristine motorcycle.

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of Sheba,” he replied. “Don’t move. I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

He disappeared to the laundry for less than two minutes and returned to half a tray of cookies gone and Bart with crumbs on his shirt and cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Under any other circumstance, Jaime might have stopped and admired the other boy.

Opening the white box, Jaime motioned for Bart to lift his pant leg. By the sight of it, Jaime was glad that he hadn’t eaten anything.

He cleaned the gash on Bart’s knee, apologizing every time Bart hissed at the rubbing alcohol’s sting. As he wiped the blood away, it became apparent that they had bigger problems.

“I need to pop your knee back in place,” said Jaime. “This is gonna hurt, but I need you to hold still, okay?”

Jaime squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t close _your_ eyes!” Bart exclaimed.

“Right, right. Sorry.”

Placing his hands on either side of Bart’s knee, Jaime gauged a feel of things with his thumbs. “On three.”

Bart nodded.

“One…”

Bart closed his eyes.

“Two…”

A sickeningly loud _pop_ echoed through the kitchen. Bart yelped.

“It’s done! It’s done,” Jaime repeated soothingly, lacing their fingers together. “That’s the worst of it.”

The rest was easy work—patching the cuts and rubbing ointment on the bruises; he paused only once to get an ice pack for the bump. Cookie after cookie, Bart nibbled away, as though that was his way of avoiding the elephant in the room, until only a couple remained. The adrenaline was redirected and suddenly Jaime was astutely aware of his every heartbeat. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed the bloody rags into the trash, washed his hands, and removed the third tray from the oven.

Bart’s eyes lit up. “How many did you make?”

“I dunno, but you can have them,” Jaime said.

“Crash!”

Jaime piled the piping hot cookies onto a plate and placed it on the table next to Bart. “Why come here?”

“I told you: you were the closest,” Bart said between bites.

“I mean, why not go to the hospital?” Jaime asked.

Bart looked down at his lap. “I did. They turned me away as soon as they saw me.”

“Bart…”

“It’s fine,” he dismissed.

Jaime could no longer keep the cork in the bottle. He threw his hands in the air, exclaiming, “It’s not fine! _None_ of this is fine! You shouldn’t be punished for wanting a choice in things. It’s—” 

Pacing back and forth, Jaime’s breathing quickened. He ran his fingers through his hair. Under his shirt, the snowy pendant brushed his skin, sending a wintry chill through his body.

“Jaime.”

He crouched to Bart’s level.

“It’s not fair! Why does it matter that one person doesn’t like a specific someone?”

“ _Jaime_.” 

Bart grabbed Jaime’s face. Heat crawled up Jaime’s cheeks when he realized that they were so close that the clusters of freckles on Bart’s face melded into one entity, as though the arbitrary groupings didn’t matter on second glance. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Bart’s middle, feeling every clothing fold and soft curve.

“I’ve been at this for a while now,” Bart said. “I know how easy it is to be cynical. Society’s not fair, the system’s rigged, people are downright nasty, and the only thing we know for certain is that nothing makes sense.” His thumb traced Jaime’s cheekbone. “It’s so easy to think there’s no hope, but that’s _far_ from the truth. _Hope_ is what got us to where we are now and it’s what will carry us the rest of the way.”

Inches apart, Jaime felt Bart’s warm, sugar-scented breath tickle his skin. Eyes sliding half shut, Jaime let his other senses take over—the smell of oranges on Bart’s jacket; their soft, steady, in sync breathing; the feeling as though a ribbon encircled them, waiting to pull taut and close the already shrinking gap between their bodies.

A million thoughts raced through Jaime’s head. What would his peers think? His parents? The world? The rush of fear and the rush of desire clashed like swords, pushing and pushing, both refusing to surrender yet waiting for the other to give in. One blade was etched with a thousand pairs of disapproving eyes. The other: a lonely heart.

Their noses brushed. Jaime placed one hand on the nape of Bart’s neck.

“ _Mijo_ , I brought those chocolate chips you asked for—”

Jaime jumped apart right when his mother entered the kitchen. Her eyebrows furrowed as her gaze landed on Bart and the wastebasket of bloody gauze under the table.

She turned to Jaime, confusion and worry laced in her voice. “ _Díos mio_ , what happened?”

He hesitated. “Bart crashed his bike.”

Bianca set her purse on the counter. “Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Reyes,” Bart replied. “Jaime took care of me.”

She ruffled Jaime’s hair. “That’s my son—always thinking of others. And you did a good job, too.”

Jaime chuckled nervously. “ _Gracias_ , Mamá.” Clearing his throat, he stood up and grabbed his keys. “I can drive you home,” he said to Bart.

“No need. I have my ride.” 

Bart pulled himself up, only to stumble before even taking a single first step. Jaime was there, ready to catch him.

“Sit,” Jaime instructed. “I think I still have the crutch from when I broke my foot last year.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bart relented. “I’ll tell Kon to pick up my bike.”

Once Jaime got Bart properly equipped, they slid into the car and pulled onto the road.

Not many cars were out, nor were there any pedestrians. The car radio was broken—it had been for a while—so the only thing cutting through the silence was the low engine thrum. Jaime poignantly kept his eyes forward and glued his fingers to the steering wheel; it was more favorable compared to fiddling with his pendant.

It was Bart who spoke first, slumped against the seat, hugging himself close.

“I didn’t crash my bike.”

The older boy couldn’t help a small snort. “Yeah, I figured.”

Bart bit his lip and looked out the window. “I was jumped.”

Jaime nearly choked on his spit. He tore his eyes from the road. “You were _what?!?_ ”

He pulled over and waited for Bart to continue.

“I was on my way back from visiting Virgil at work. My bike was parked kinda far—left turn here—so I took a shortcut between these two buildings.” Bart’s voice wobbled. 

He took a shaky breath. “Th-there were these guys. Three or four or five—I can’t remember. They called m-me terrible things and tried to take my stuff. I didn’t have any money, but one of them had a kn-knife and—”

Jaime unbuckled his seatbelt and took Bart’s shaking body in his arms. 

A strangled sob escaped the younger boy’s lips. “ _I thought I was gonna die_.”

Before Jaime could say anything, Bart pulled away. “You should focus on driving,” he said.

Jaime wanted to protest, but Bart was resolute in gazing out the window. Reluctantly, he merged back onto the road, though his arms wanted nothing more than to hold Bart and stay that way, tucked safely in their little pocket of the universe, undisturbed by time and the troubles it brought. 

The rest of the ride passed by without a word. Jaime didn’t even remember most of it. Highway hypnosis, it was called. Dangerous as it may be, the road was the last thing on his mind.

They pulled up in front of Bart’s place—a nondescript cookie-cutter home, identical to the neighboring ones. A Ruby flag hung from the window, but the square planters and slate shingles and ash-gray driveway were none the different.

“Jaime?”

“ _¿Sí, chiquito?_ ”

Bart gestured between them. “What are we?”

Jaime opened his mouth, but no sound came out. What _were_ they? “Friends” wasn’t satisfactory, but “lovers” terrified him. Fingers free, he found himself fiddling with the pearl pendant once again.

Bart shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe I’m reading too much into things.”

“No! You’re not, I swear,” Jaime exclaimed.

“Then what are we?” Bart’s expression grew more serious. “One minute you’re interested and the next it’s back to the old One True Soulmate act. You’re sending me mixed signals and frankly, I’m not here for it.”

“I…” Jaime faltered.

Bart pointed to Jaime’s necklace. “Call me when you’ve made up your mind.”

He offered nothing else as he opened the door and made his way into the house. A woman greeted him on the porch, fussing over him briefly before letting him in, sparing a quick “thank you” glance at the older boy. He offered a polite smile and wave as the door closed.

Groaning, Jaime closed his eyes and rested against the steering wheel.

He was _so_ in over his head.


	8. Chapter 8

**_“Today, in a landmark ruling, the Netherlands has become the first country to legalize non-soulmate marriage. Our field correspondent Lois Lane is on the scene in Amsterdam, where thousands have gathered to commemorate…”_ **

Jaime regarded the footage on the grainy TV with a small smile. He tossed a pack of tampons and three king-sized bags of Skittles onto the counter and doled out out his cash.

“That’s eight bucks for these things.” Jaime slid the items to the half-asleep cashier. “And here’s fifty for gas.” He jabbed his thumb at the car parked next to a pump. 

As the employee to count the change, the middle-aged man behind Jaime glared at the TV, scoffing, “What’s next, marrying animals? This world’s gone to hell.”

Rolling his eyes, the boy slipped his wallet into his pocket and grabbed his things. He had bigger battles than some bigoted stranger—namely, beating the afternoon traffic, finding parking, and tracking down Brenda and Paco in the modern-day labyrinth known as the mall.

Tapping his foot, the number on the gas pump crawled up ever so slowly, as though it was filling his car with an eyedropper. Once again, Jaime found himself scrolling through old texts, stopping at the same one each time.

**“You’re a great guy, Jaime, but right now I’m not in the place to be messing around with my feelings. I like you, but I can’t keep working with the back-and-forth game you got going on. Figure that out first, then come to me. Until then, I think it’s best if we take a break.”**

That was sent a week ago, _after_ Jaime had begged for two days straight for Bart to talk to him, and has been playing inside his head ever since. It drove him _crazy_. Jaime wanted to scream, but the damn necklace 

He felt like the screwup of the century. If he could replay, he would’ve never let Bart go.

A new text, this time from Paco, snapped Jaime out of his thoughts.

**“how far r u?”**

Jaime removed the pump and texted back, **“Few minutes.”**

He started the car and pressed the slightly sticky play button on the DVD player, hoping that his mother’s old soap operas will drown out the swordfight in his head.

Brenda and Paco were by the front entrance, flicking gumdrops into each other’s mouths when Jaime arrived. He tossed them each a pack of Skittles and discreetly slipped Brenda the tampons.

“Why did you guys call me here?” he asked. “I was busy.”

Brenda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, busy moping and reading Nicholas Sparks. I’ll be right back, then we’ll get to work.”

Jaime turned to Paco. “What does she mean by ‘get to work’?”

Paco scanned him from head to toe.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” Jaime asked defensively.

Paco replied, “My mom told me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Jaime scoffed, offended. “I think I look fine.”

“Brenda’s the fashion expert.” Paco held up a pink shopping bag. “Just trust her.” He took a seat on a marble bench and patted the spot next to him. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, I guess,” Jaime mumbled, sitting down.

Paco stared at him, waiting.

“Really, I’m fine.”

Paco kept staring.

Jaime relented. “Alright, I’ll spill. _Díos mio_ , you’re persuasive.” 

He gazed down at his hands—hands that _should_ be holding Bart. “I miss him.”

Paco waited.

“I messed up. Bart trusted me with his feelings and I hurt him all because I can’t figure out what to do with this stupid necklace.” Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m so _confused_. And _scared_. I-It’s like one half of my brain is telling me to embrace the new and the other half wants to go crawling back to what I already knew.”

“ _¿Y tu corazón?_ ” Paco asked.

Jaime faltered. “I… don’t know.”

Paco’s wrestler arms swallowed Jaime like a giant memory foam pillow and awkwardly rocked him back and forth.

“Aw, it’s always nice to see boys expressing their feelings,” Brenda cooed. She tossed Jaime a five-dollar bill and poured the entire bag of Skittles into her mouth. “So, what were you guys talking about?”

“Just stuff between me and Bart,” Jaime said. “Er, last week, something happened between us.”

“Did he kiss you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

Her eyes widened. “Did _you_ kiss _him_?”

Jaime let out a single bitter chuckle. “I should’ve.”

Brenda’s expression turned into one of sympathy.

“Hey, that’s what we’re here for,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “And lucky for you, I know the _perfect_ remedy for a bad week.”

Jaime playfully rolled his eyes. “Is it a shopping spre—”

“It’s a shopping spree!”

§

“Hm…” Brenda motioned for him to spin around. “Nope. That doesn’t do it for you.”

Snorting, Jaime looked down at the highlighter-yellow pinstriped blazer. “I could’ve told you that, _chiquita_.”

“Don’t be so traught.” She picked another item from the several dozen in Paco’s arms. “Try this.”

Jaime inspected the item—a simple, chestnut-colored leather jacket with a bronze zipper and pockets. He took off the ugly blazer and, slipped the jacket on, and inspected himself in the tall, slightly smudged mirror.

Brenda looped around, heels clicking against the concrete floor, tapping her chin. She then glanced around the small store. Though Jaime couldn’t discern anything from the packed shelves and hordes of people, Brenda apparently could. Her eyes traveled in a straight line from one wall to another, like connecting two points on a map.

Pointing with both arms in two different directions, she said, “Paco, grab me that shirt and those jeans.”

Paco nodded, dumped the other items on a bench, and jogged off.

“Why are we doing this?” Jaime asked.

“Because changing your outfit always works,” she said in a “duh” tone. “When in doubt, switch it up.”

“This isn’t an Eighties movie, Brenda. New clothes won’t solve all my problems.”

“True,” said Brenda. “But it’s a start.”

Jaime shook his head. “I still don’t see what you mean.”

“You will in a minute.”

Brenda took the two plastic hangers from Paco, shoved them into Jaime’s arms, and spun him around toward the dressing room. “Try with these.”

Jaime locked the door and took off the jacket; he hung that neatly on a hook. He took off his blue t-shirt… only to replace it with a nearly identical white one. The new one had the bonus of a pocket by his chest, but other than that, Jaime couldn’t see why Brenda picked it. The same went for the pants—his light blue jeans were replaced with a pair of darker ones. Was this some sort of practical joke? His friends weren’t above them.

There was a knock. “You done?” Paco asked.

Putting the jacket on, Jaime replied, “Yeah, I’m done.” He stepped into the light. “How do I look?”

Paco hummed, impressed. Brenda, too, seemed pleased. But instead of answering, she asked, “How do you feel?”

“Huh?” Jaime scratched his head.

“We think you look great,” she said, “but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how you feel while wearing it.”

Jaime turned back to the mirror. As his friends stepped out of the frame, it was just him. The same old Jaime Reyes. Only… different. The t-shirt hung comfortably around his torso and the jacket sleeves fell perfectly around his arms, as though it was custom-tailored, creasing in all the right places. His necklace dangled in front. The jeans felt crisp; fresh.

From a spinning rack, he picked a pair of aviator sunglasses—classic, but not dated. He placed them on his face and smiled. “Feels crash.”

Something about the outfit felt off—like he was ninety-nine percent there but not all the way. Jaime brushed it off.

“Dang,” Brenda whistled. “For a second I was worried, ‘cause, like, what Ruby doesn’t have a fashion sense, you know?”

“Excuse me,” Jaime scoffed, “I have a great fashion sense.”

“You’ve worn the same three shirts since freshman year.”

“Touché.”

§

Jaime felt bad for being as grateful as he was that his parents weren’t home. He tossed the shopping bag onto his desk chair and flopped onto the bed. The novelty of the mall trip had slowly worn off on the drive back, and he was left with the same weariness that came from checking his texts.

He tossed the phone aside and buried his face in his pillow. 

_Why must his life be so complicated?_

The pillow muffled the half-groan, half-scream that came out of his mouth. 

What was Bart doing right now?

Jaime liked to imagine Bart was somewhere safe and warm, protected from the seasonal chill. He pictured Bart wrapped up all warm and cozy in a knitted blanket, cradling in his hands a hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows, the flickering fireplace dancing in his eyes. It was better than the never-ending that engulfed Jaime.

Brenda was right. He needed a change.

Grabbing the bag, Jaime slipped into the bathroom, double-checking that the door was locked despite knowing the house was empty. As fast as he could, he tore the price tags off the new clothes and changed out of his old ones. 

Gazing into the mirror, Jaime admired the new outfit. He felt like a Hollywood star wearing designer clothes for the first time. 

Still, something felt off.

His eyes were immediately drawn to it.

Blending against the white shirt and white bathroom tile, _it_ stuck out like a sore thumb.

Turning it over in his hands, Jaime examined the pendant.

The alabaster gleam was a lot of things. It was life as he knew it—safe, untouchable. It was the promise of success without hurdles. It was easy; it was common; it was everything Jaime was familiar with and nothing he wasn’t. Jaime could easily text Bart back; say he was going to wait for his soulmate like everyone else. After all, soulmates promised a typical run-of-the-mill existence free of struggle and strife.

He could pretend this was all a fluke; that these past couple of months were a teenage phase, like those guys who think sagging pants are cool. Jaime could wait for his soulmate, get married, and live a perfectly normal life.

 _Díos bueno,_ that sounded miserable.

His fingers hooked around the elastic cord.

That was safety and privilege and complacency, but not _happiness_. Jaime couldn’t live with that.

He thought back to Paco’s question.

_“¿Y tu corazón?”_

His heart wanted a lot of things. It wanted justice and acceptance for his friends and all the other Rubies. It wanted a family who’ll love him unconditionally. It wanted to break from its bone-white cage and run free. It wanted to sing and dance and scream from the rooftops.

It wanted love.

It wanted a choice.

It wanted to choose _him_.

Jaime wanted stupid Bart Allen and his stupid lollipops and stupid soft hair and _stupid, terrifying, reckless, exhilarating_ motorcycle escapades. He wanted greasy snacks and stargazing and parking lot games and showing up at parties just to tell Tim off for smoking. Jaime wanted to wrap them in a victory flag, whisper secrets, watch the fireworks on Bart’s cheeks, and kiss every spark. The thought of not being able to do that physically _hurt_. Oh, what a brash, impulsive creature the heart is, disregarding consequence and turning a blind eye to harsh reality, leaving a trail of blood and shattered glass in its wake. Yet, at the end of the night, it always returns to pick up the shards and piece them together into something _new, unexpected, beautiful_. 

His brain knew it was foolish to act on pure desire. _Utterly, completely_ foolish. But at the same time, it makes perfect sense. He was merely acting on something so universal that many take it for granted. After all, is it not love that drives the best of humanity? Adam loved Eve so much that he was willing to disobey God and fall from Eden with her. Mankind’s first sin was not taking the fruit, but taking the plunge.

So what did it matter, anyway? He’s not the first, nor will he be the last. As long as the feeling is mutual and all parties are willing to care and work and fight for each other, a dumb label makes no difference, because at the end of the day, love is love is love is love is _love_.

He took off the necklace and threw it to the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

“Everybody, please open to chapter nine of your textbook. We’ll be starting a new unit on contemporary American history. I’m handing you the course overview so you can see which topics we’ll be covering.”

Jaime took a sheet of paper from the stack and passed it to the student behind him. His brows furrowed as he scanned the baby blue bullet-pointed page not once, not twice, but four times.

He raised his hand. “Mr. Gardner, I think you forgot one of the movements in the Sixties.”

“Hm?” The history teacher glanced at the syllabus. “Civil Rights, feminism, Vietnam protests, environmentalism… nope, that’s everything.”

“What about the Rubies?” Jaime asked. “The Sixties were a major turning point.”

He was tempted to reveal the necklace under his shirt as a statement of _“we exist, we matter, people should know about us”_ , but this teacher was far from the friendliest and Jaime didn’t feel like outing himself in a stuffy high school history classroom of all places.

The teacher waved him off. “We don’t have enough time.”

Jaime crossed his arms. “We spent three weeks on the War of 1812. I think we can spend a _day_ on Ruby history.”

“Look, kid, we’re not gonna go over that stuff. It’s not school appropriate. Period.”

Gaping, Jaime looked around the room, expecting someone to say something. But the room was split in two. A third of the kids gave him judgmental side glances. A few snickered and one silently mocked him. But what irked Jaime was the _majority_ , who would rather gaze out the window, thumb through their notes, tap away on their laptops—the ones who weren’t oblivious, but _pretending_ to be. Who would rather bury their heads in the sand and their phones. Once upon a time Jaime was one of them, but with the fog lifted, he realized ignorance is a feeling of bliss but an act of malice. 

He threw his hands up. “Does no one else care?!? Even if they’re outnumbered, Rubies are still people with a history that deserves to be told! Plus, if you think about it, a small percent of seven billion is still a lot—”

“Enough!” The teacher slammed a hand on Jaime’s desk. “If you’re so insistent on wasting time, then I have no choice but to give you detention.”

Jaime sputtered. “Detention?!? For what?”

“For disrupting class and talking back. Keep it up and it’ll be two.”

Grumbling, Jaime slumped back in his seat, the necklace growing warmer against his skin.

§

He took a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing._

Stringing on a smile, Jaime set his tray down in front of Tye and Asami. “Hey guys, what’s up?”

Tye greeted him with the usual handshake and clap on the back. “Jaime! What’s shakin’?”

Jaime hesitated. “Not much.”

_It’s now or never._

He cleared his throat. “There’s something I wanna tell you.”

His hands fiddled with a paper straw wrapper, longing for someone to be there and hold it for support. But help wasn’t arriving. It was just him and the truth.

Jaime untucked the necklace from his shirt.

“You’re joking, right?” Tye chuckled nervously. “‘Cause that’s a good fake.”

“I’m serious,” said Jaime. “I hope this doesn’t change anything.”

Tye shifted uncomfortably. Asami pursed her lips, refusing to meet Jaime’s eyes. They seemed to be mentally asking each other what to do.

“Well…”

“That’s good for you, it’s just—”

“We thought you were—”

“You don’t _seem_ like one of them,” Tye finished. “If you ask me, I think you’re punching over your weight here.”

Disappointed, Jaime sighed. “Never mind.”

He gathered his things. Searching the courtyard, he couldn’t find a spare seat, let alone an entire empty table to have lunch in peace. The band geeks were under a tree, flipping through sheet music and accidentally knocking milk cartons over with their tubas. The science kids had their lab kits set up alongside their food; one would’ve drank from a beaker had it not been for her friend. Gar and Perdita sat with two different but equally stereotypical “popular” crowds, the former hiding his necklace under his clothes. Jaime could sit in the corner with the math teacher and gym coach, but who wanted to be _that_ kid? Plus, he didn’t want to be a third wheel to… whatever he was looking at (they had two straws in the same cup).

A heavy arm slung around Jaime’s shoulders, followed by smaller fingers gently flicking the side of his head.

“ _¡Oye!_ Don’t tell me you forgot about us,” Brenda said.

“Come on,” said Paco. “You can sit with us.”

“What about Tye and Asami?” Jaime asked.

Brenda shook her head. “We stopped hanging out with them as soon as we realized.”

Jaime grinned as they approached the Ruby table. Kon, Cassie, and Bart were flinging carrot cubes with plastic spoons in a three-way battle. Virgil was off to the side, watching something on his phone. 

“Hey guys,” said Brenda. “Think you have room for one more?”

Virgil smiled and moved his bag aside, leaving a person-sized gap between him and Bart—the latter of who was reloading his weapon. “Welcome to the club, man.”

“Thanks!” Jaime fist-bumped Virgil before turning and covering Bart’s eyes with his hands. “Guess who?”

“Is it The Rock? Please be The Rock.”

Jaime giggled. “It’s me!”

Bart spun around, smiling when his eyes landed on Jaime’s necklace. He laced their fingers together. “‘Course it is.”

Cassie scoffed in pretend offense. “How rude, Bart. You’re not even going to introduce us to your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, _querido_ , you’re not gonna introduce me?” Jaime teased.

“Nope.” Smirking, Bart popped a lollipop in his mouth. “Do it yourself, _quesadilla_ , or whatever it is you called me.”

Just then, Tim approached the table, hugging his Spider-Man lunch box close to his chest, skin a bright salmon color, cheeks puffy, and bangs falling in front of his eyes. He acknowledged Jaime with a short nod and sat on the end seat.

“Woah.” Kon threw an arm around Tim. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Everyone’s heads snapped in their direction, concern painted on their faces.

“Nothing,” Tim replied.

“Babe, we know you better than that,” Cassie said. “You’re safe to tell us.”

“Just some kid hassling me in the bathroom,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”

Before finished his sentence, the entire table sprang up. Cassie pushed up her sleeves, Paco and Kon both cracked their knuckles, and Bart pulled a dangerously sharp Hot Topic gift card out of his pocket. Brenda and Virgil even had the same idea of swinging their necklaces like nunchucks. Jaime, unsure of what to do, grabbed a plastic fork that still had a segment of spaghetti stuck between the tongs.

“Who is it?” Cassie demanded. “I’m gonna give ‘em a piece of my mind and both of my fists.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, warmth fluttered in Jaime’s chest. _One for all and all for one._

“Guys, guys, relax,” Tim said. “I don’t even remember what he looks like. But I appreciate it.”

“Well, if he ever messes with you, you know who to call,” said Jaime.

Tim smiled. “Thanks. Also…” He pointed from Jaime’s necklace to him and Bart’s connected hands to Kon and Cassie. “You guys lost the bet. Pay up.”

As the table wound back down into normal conversation, Jaime pressed his lips to the back of Bart’s hand and whispered, _“Te extrañé, amorcito.”_

Bart laughed. “Are all Spanish Rubies this flirty? Not that I mind.”

Jaime looped an arm around Bart’s waist. “ _Mi cariño_ , ‘flirty’ implies that I do this with other people.”

§

Jaime wasn’t sure what to expect from detention. This was his first one.

In the movies, detention was a place where all the burnouts and future criminals congregated, snapping at each other like angry piranhas; a trench warzone of spitballs, paper planes, and lewd desk graffiti. The detention monitors were either too bored to care or too scared, making futile attempts to get the animals to write _“I will not ___”_ a hundred times before giving up.

But Jaime could say for certain that he did _not_ expect to see his boyfriend and half his friend group. Brenda was in the front row, boots off, relaxing her purple socked feet on the desk, blowing loud bubblegum bubbles. The tank top and shorts she donned told Jaime enough.

“Dress coded?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s stupid anyway. I saw some dude walking around shirtless.”

He nodded understandingly. Putting his hands on his hips, Jaime turned to Bart. “And what did you do?”

Though he tried to suppress it, an adorable little giggle escaped his lips. “I could ask the same to you.”

Jaime slid into the desk next to Bart. “I was apparently ‘being disruptive’ for wanting history to be taught the right way.”

Another voice said, “Man, that’s messed up.”

Jaime jumped. “Virgil? When did you get here?”

“…I’ve been here the whole time,” Virgil replied. 

Jaime tilted his head. “What are you in for?”

“Couple of white kids were fighting.”

Jaime winced. “That sucks, _hermano_.”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “Could be worse. I could’ve blown up the chem lab.” He looked pointedly at Bart.

Jaime burst out laughing.

Bart huffed indignantly. “At least _I_ didn’t download a virus onto a library computer.” 

He gestured to Tim, who was face-down on his desk, a Red Bull can in one hand and a phone in the other, his oversized hood covering his long hair.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Is he alive?”

“Not since freshman year,” Virgil answered.

“I meant is he even breathing?”

Bart leaned across the aisle and poked Tim. Tim mumbled something unintelligible and flashed an obscene gesture.

“Apparently.”

Bart got up and made his way to the coffee mug full of lollipops on the front desk. The detention monitor was nowhere to be seen. Did the “if the teacher doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes” rule apply for detention? Bart dumped all the lollipops into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Tim’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. 

He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Paco and Cassie are getting burritos from that truck across the street. What does everyone want?”

Virgil perked up. “Grilled shrimp!”

Brenda and Jaime answered in unison, “ _Carne asada con salsa picante_ ” before high-fiving.

Bart answered, “A sausage breakfast burrito with extra… uh… everything.”

The doorknob clicked. Tim’s thumbs flew over the keyboard and Bart scrambled back to his desk, holding back a snicker.

Jaime’s eyebrows went up when, of all faculty members, the detention monitor turned out to be his _math teacher_. The man set his bag on the desk before plopping onto the squeaky swivel chair. Resting his chin in his hands, he surveyed the students in silence, a blank expression on his face.

“Well, this is an interesting turnout,” he said. “All my best students. Together. In detention.” He checked the calendar on the desk. “Is it Opposite Day already? I know I should’ve worn my tracksuit.”

The teacher pulled out his laptop; he clicked through with his left hand while tapping his fingers on the desk with his right.

“I’m supposed to take attendance and review why each of you were sent in, but honestly, looking at this, the only ones who deserve to be here are you two.” He gestured to Bart and Tim. “Seeing as you’re the only ones who did something objectively wrong. The rest of you…” 

Jaime bit his lip. Did he permanently taint his favorite teacher’s image of him?

The teacher shook his head and closed the laptop. “I don’t agree with the policy, but as part of my job, I have to uphold it.”

He got up and stretched. “Normally, I’d make you do algebra problems or something, but I didn’t have anything prepared. And, like I said, most of you didn’t do anything wrong and it’d be unfair to punish you.”

“So… what do you want us to do?”

The teacher pulled a test packet out of his bag. “I’m gonna run some copies downstairs. The machine’s slow. And by that, I mean really slow, so it’ll be some time.” He pointed to Jaime. “You’re in charge. And as I say that, I am aware that putting a teenager in charge of other teenagers means I still have a group of unsupervised teenagers, but I believe if you’re old enough to go eighty-five on a freeway, you’re old enough to sit in a room by yourselves. Do whatever you want, just don’t set another desk on fire or download another virus.”

Jaws dropped around the room as the teacher simply… left. 

“Is this happening?” Bart asked. “I’m not the only one who saw that, right?”

Virgil asked, “So we basically have the place to ourselves, right?”

Grinning, Brenda nudged Jaime. “You’re in charge, _hermano_. What’s our first order of business?”

He laughed. “First order of business: Tim’s in charge now ‘cause I have no idea what to do. Tim?”

“Cassie texted me back.” Tim hardly glanced up from his phone as he said that. “She and Paco are outside the window.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “The window?”

“The window. The big glass thing that lets us see outside,” Tim enunciated, as though he was talking to a five-year-old. “Paco found a ladder so they’re sending her up.”

Virgil was two steps ahead, unlatching the window and sliding it open, letting the air and dried leaves rush into the room. His hands wrapped around one end of a steel ladder. Below, Paco and Cassie waved; the latter had a paper bag in each hand plus one between her teeth. The spicy, savory smell drifted the whole two floors into the room. Paco held the ladder and Cassie began climbing. Leaning out the window, Bart took two of the bags from Cassie while Jaime held the younger boy’s shirttail. 

“You all owe me five bucks each,” she said as Brenda and Virgil helped her through the window. 

“Heeeey, babe.” Bart threw an arm around Jaime. “You know how boyfriends would do anything for each other?”

Jaime already had his wallet out before Bart finished the sentence, rolling his eyes fondly. 

They turned their desks and pushed them together in a half-circle, like a roundtable of judges ready to pass a verdict on the next person who walked in. While the others began chattering away, Jaime pulled Bart onto his lap and placed a kiss in his hair. He took in the sweet scent and smiled.

Brenda pointed at Bart’s burrito, a mixture of bewilderment, disgust, and awe on her face. “How are you already done?”

He shoved the last bite into his mouth. “I eat fast. Jaime can vouch for me.”

Jaime nodded. “It’s true. He ate, like, three dozen cookies in one sitting. _Gordito_.” He poked Bart’s side, causing the latter to squeal.

Cassie turned to Tim. “Why don’t you ever bake me cookies?”

“You have another boyfriend,” Tim said between bites.

“That other boyfriend can only make charcoal lumps.”

As Bart stole a bite from Jaime’s burrito, Jaime remarked, “This kinda reminds me of The Breakfast Club.”

Brenda snorted. “That is not how The Breakfast Club went.”

“It’s how it should’ve.”

The door clicked. They scrambled to push the desks back into the straight rows.

“Hide me!” Cassie whisper-shouted.

Jaime’s eyes darted around the room before landing on the storage closet. He opened the door and Brenda shoved Cassie in before tossing the food wrappers after her. Jaime slammed the door and dove into his desk, hitting his funny bone in the process. Biting the inside of his cheek, he spared one last glance at his friends before focusing on the door.

“The machine was faster than I thought,” the teacher said, rifling through a stack.

Shifting in his seat, Jaime asked, “What now?”

The teacher opened his mouth, only to pause and take a whiff. “Do I smell burritos?”

Jaime coughed. “No, sir, that’s… my deodorant.”

“Your deodorant?”

“Yessir,” said Jaime. “It’s all the rage. Great for attracting guys.”

Bart nodded. “I can vouch for him.”

The teacher shook his head, amused. “You kids and your strange trends.” He set the papers down and sat on the corner of the desk. “Can I tell you all something?”

They nodded. Jaime raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I want to be here about as much as you do. Which is to say: not at all.” He glanced at his watch. “Technically, you’re supposed to be here for an hour. Thing is, I have a dinner date in forty minutes and if I leave now, I’ll still have time to freshen up and I won’t have to postpone. So here’s the deal: I’ll log you as being here the whole time and for three of you, I won’t put it on your permanent record as long as you don’t tell anyone about this.”

The teens all mimed some variation of zipped lips.

Smiling, the man grabbed his bag. “Good. Glad you understand.”

Just then, the track coach stuck his head through the doorway. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” The math teacher slung his bag over his shoulder and took the coach’s hand. He turned to the kids one last time. “By the way, you can tell your friend to come out of the closet. She’s safe here.”

A muffled “damnit” came from within the storage.

As the two teachers left the room, Jaime swore he saw a flash of red under their shirts.

He turned to the others. “You heard him: we’re free to go. What’s the plan?”

Brenda pointed to the closet.

“Shoot, right!”

Jaime opened the closet and Cassie stumbled out, a skeleton model draped over her shoulders. She pointed to it. “I’m keeping this.”

Tim’s phone buzzed. “Kon and Paco are on the roof—they say the view is great.”

Bart grinned. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Before Jaime could stop him, Bart climbed onto the window ledge. Jaime’s heart flew to his throat as Bart jumped onto a maintenance latter a few feet to the side, latching onto the steel rungs, the wind ruffling his hair. Cassie, Brenda, Virgil, and Tim followed; Bart let them go ahead.

Gulping, Jaime made the mistake of looking down. A two-story drop was objectively survivable, but the prospect was as terrifying as a two-hundred-foot one. 

“Come on,” Bart said.

Balancing on the frame, Jaime took a deep breath.

_It’s just another leap of faith._

Springing off the ledge, his hand wrapped around the cold, dew-slick ladder. Jaime scrambled to grip it, hugging it close, eyes squeezed shut. He felt Bart’s hand on his.

“It’s okay. I won’t let you fall.”

Jaime nodded but refused to open his eyes until he felt solidness under his feet.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Slowly, Jaime opened one eye to meet Bart’s. His nose scrunched when Bart placed a soft kiss on it.

“We’re safe now.”

Resting their foreheads together, Jaime laced his fingers with Bart’s. The breeze flowed through Jaime’s clothes, lighter than a wayward balloon. Holding a lollipop between his teeth, Bart giggled, his emerald eyes twinkling, and Jaime wished they could freeze-frame and stay like that.

Bart snapped his head toward a smoky smell. 

Marching over, he plucked the cigarette from Tim’s lips. “Don’t you know how bad these things are for you?”

The others stifled a laugh as Tim whined incoherently. Brenda nearly dropped her phone on the gravel rooftop trying to snap a picture. Next to her, Kon’s phone was in a paper cup, blasting punk rock for a mile around.

Jaime strolled forward and plucked the lollipop from Bart’s mouth.

“Don’t you know how bad these things are for you?” he teased.

“Hey!”

Smirking, Jaime popped the strawberry-flavored lollipop into his mouth. 

Half a second later, it was stolen from him. 

“Nice try.” Bart tucked the lollipop in his cheek. 

“You know, by the transitive property, you guys just kissed,” said Brenda.

“Sure.” Jaime rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Hey, you’re dating, aren’t you? And you don’t have a dumb necklace telling you who you can and can’t kiss,” said Virgil. 

“Exactly!” Brenda exclaimed. Stepping toward the edge, she cupped her hands over her mouth. “Screw the system!”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah! Who needs it, anyway?”

“I don’t need a romantic partner and I never will!” Paco declared. 

Lavender clouds stretched in thin cotton wisps across the surrealist-painted sunset. The city was vibrant but distant—they could live without Jaime, and he without them. All that glittered might’ve been gold, but gold meant nothing without the right people. Sure, he was hell-bound in the eyes of many, but he was fine with that. What could heaven offer that wasn’t on this rooftop with him? 

Whooping at the top of his lungs, he pointed his middle finger to the sky, to God, to passing airplanes. 

“ _Fuck soulmates!_ ”

The sky served as the perfect backdrop for Kon to unfurl his diamond flag. “You hear that, world? We’re here to stay!”

_Whoosh!_

With lightning speed, Bart snatched the flag and ran with it billowing behind him like a superhero’s cape, cackling maniacally. 

“Hey, get back here!” Kon shouted. “I paid ten bucks for that!”

“Never!” 

He rounded the corner and swerved like a roadrunner, running so fast that he didn’t notice his shoelace coming undone until it was too late. Bart tripped, stumbled, and fell right into Jaime’s arms.

Bart smirked. “Looks like I’ve fallen for you.”

Laughing, Jaime wrapped the flag around them like a blanket.

As night dawned, stars materialized against the dark sky, with streaking past the new moon on their journeys elsewhere. The music slowed to softer rock ballads. Paco had dozed off on Brenda’s shoulder. Virgil was taking too many photos of the sky. Tim laid across Kon and Cassie’s laps, an unlit cigarette hanging from his two fingers, rambling about Bigfoot and the inevitable heat death of the universe. The flag was still draped around Bart and Jaime’s shoulders as their legs swung from the edge.

Jaime leaned in. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Bart nodded eagerly.

Resting his chin on Bart’s shoulder, he said, “This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Jaime nodded.

“I like this place better than in Central City.”

He smiled “And I like it better with you here.”

Jaime counted the fireworks, planting a kiss on each one. His lips tingled with every spark; the explosions bloomed in time with their heartbeats.

_Ba-dum. Boom_

_Ba-dum. Boom._

Bart giggled. “What are you doing? Not that I want you to stop.”

“Making up for lost time.”

_Ba-dum. Boom._

_Ba-dum. Boom._

_Ba-dum._


	10. Chapter 10

The windows were dark when they pulled up. The porch lights were off and no movement sounded through the paper-thin walls. Jaime sighed in relief, taking off his helmet and glancing at his watch.

**[10:38 PM]**

He placed a hand on Bart’s waist. “I had a great time tonight.”

His chest fluttered when Bart took off his helmet and planted a quick kiss on the cheek. “Me too. Goodnight, babe.”

“ _Dulces sueños, amorcito_.”

Jaime climbed up the front steps, cringing when a rustic floorboard creaked. The house was still and sleeping, which he was immensely grateful for. He slipped the key into the lock, turning as slowly as possible. 

Opening the door a wide enough crack to slip through. He closed the door and made his way down the narrow, shoe-littered hallway, the bumpy stucco walls acting as his only guide through the pitch dark. Step by step, he tiptoed across the frigid tile. Heart hammering in his chest, Jaime didn’t even dare to breathe.

He reached the staircase. Surely, his family was asleep. There was no sign of them.

A lamp flicked on.

_Busted._

He whirled around, a nervous smile on his face. “Mamá, Papá. What are you doing up so late””

Both parents were lounging in the living room in their nightclothes. Alberto crossed his arms, examining Jaime from above his reading classes, an unreadable expression on his face. Bianca tapped her finger on the armrest, biting her lip.

Alberto pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

Jaime flopped down.

From the sofa, he spotted Milagro curled up like a roly-poly in the shadows at the top of the stairs, but neither of his parents seemed to notice. On the coffee table, a fake-happy photo of sixteen-year-old Jaime stared up, judging. 

“Where were you?” Alberto asked. 

Jaime’s hands felt sweaty. “The library.”

“The library closed two hours ago and you are nearly forty minutes past curfew.”

He looked down.

“Tell us the truth,” Bianca said. “You’re breaking curfew and telling lies. We got a call from school today saying you were put in detention. What’s going on with you, Jaime? You were such a good boy.”

“I wasn’t good.”

“Pardon?” she asked.

He stood up. “I wasn’t being good. I was being obedient.”

His parents opened their mouths to say something but went silent as their eyes traveled to his pendant. Dangling in plain sight, there was no more skirting around it. Jaime was sick of hiding anyway. Bianca’s hand flew to her mouth.

Alberto shook his head. “No. No, you’re messing with us.”

“I’m not,” Jaime said.

A strangled sob escaped his mother’s lips. “We can fix it, right? There has to be a way to fix this—”

“Mamá, stop. There’s nothing to fix.”

“How long have you known you were a…” she faltered. “A… you know.”

Jaime crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “A Ruby?”

“You don’t have to say it so loud,” Alberto said. “Your sister might hear.”

As though on cue, Milagro silently retreated farther upstairs.

“So? She’s gonna hear it at some point,” Jaime said. “There’s nothing inappropriate about me being _me_.”

“And we still love you,” Alberto said, “but this Ruby problem—”

“What problem?” Jaime demanded. “Tell me what is so wrong about wanting a say in who I love?”

Bianca wiped her eyes and leaned into her husband, her tears creating tiny splotches on his shirt. A pang of guilt rang through Jaime’s chest, but he had come too far to back down now.

“‘Berto, this is our fault,” she cried. “We should’ve done a better job raising—”

“It’s not your fault,” Jaime insisted. “Some people just weren’t made for the soulmate model.”

“Have you tried just… _not_ being one?” Alberto asked.

“That’s not how it works!”

“Don’t you raise your voice with me, young man!”

“I’m trying to make myself heard!”

“What you’re doing is betraying this family!” Alberto bellowed. “You’re taking everything we’ve done for you and throwing it back in our faces!”

“That’s not it at all! I’m just—” Jaime tugged his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

“What?” Jaime asked.

“Don’t _‘What?’_ me. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Alberto said. 

Jaime sputtered, at a loss for words.

“He’s been corrupting you,” Alberto continued. “Ever since you two met, you’ve been acting differently. You’ve become one of _them_.”

A low growl emanated from Jaime’s throat. “Leave Bart out of this. This is all me.”

“I refuse to believe that. Non-soulmates should not look at each other the way you look at him.”

“I told you to leave him out of this!”

“He’s nothing but a sinful piece of _meat_.”

Jaime balled his fist.

His mother stepped forward. “ _Mijo_ , please listen to us. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“And you do?” Jaime rebutted.

“We want you to be normal and happy,” she said.

“You want me to be like you,” he said. “Did you ever stop to ask what makes me happy? All you care about is saving face because you can’t stand the thought of me loving someone other than who society wants me to love.”

Alberto asked, “What is he to you?”

Jaime looked his parents in the eye and said, “Bart Allen is my boyfriend.”

When people think of ticking time bombs, they see flashing red numbers counting down. They see fuses burning, the sparks crawling towards the main body, and the lightest touch igniting a spectacular show of flames and raining debris. Nobody expects a hush; a soft sizzle of a smothered candle and a lingering smell of smoke. 

“Get out.”

Jaime stood, blinking, as though the words were foreign.

“Get out,” Alberto repeated.

Jaime raced upstairs—past Milagro, past the countless family pictures hanging in the hall—and slammed his bedroom door shut. He wanted to scream and cry and throw himself onto the bed, but his father made it clear: he wasn’t welcome. Yanking open the drawer, he shoved as many things as he could fit into his small backpack, blinking back the hot tears threatening to spill.

_Knock knock._

“Go away.”

The door opened a crack. “ _¿Hermano? ¿Qué te pasa?_ ”

Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. “I know you were watching, Milagro.”

She plopped herself down at the foot of his bed, legs swinging, and said nothing. Sighing, Jaime zipped the backpack and unlatched the window.

Milagro dashed over, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his shirt. “Stay safe.”

Jaime planted a kiss on top of her head. “I will, _lo prometo_. And you can bet I’ll be back when Mamá and Papá come around.”

With that, he swung his leg out the window and latched onto the branch brushing the side of the house. His palms ran across the rough, damp bark as he shimmied down the trunk, careful not to wake the squirrel sleeping soundly in the hollow. It was sprinkling. Cold raindrops landed on his face and he stopped to pull his hood on.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he ran.

§

How the hell did he end up here? Back at the school, in an empty parking lot with stadium-bright lights, Jaime walked along the faded white lines. He sniffled, in part because of the cold and in part because of the heartbreak leaking from the corners of his eyes. What was he gonna do? Where was he gonna go? Was he bound to spend the rest of his years wandering, the way he wandered beside the long road from the house to the school? 

But better to know who he was than be anchored to something he was not. Knowing was the first step to finding a new foothold in the world.

He didn’t notice the motorcycle approaching until its rider killed the engine. Jaime didn’t need to look to know whose arms he was throwing himself into. Burying his nose in the sweet orange scent, he let the tears fall.

“I had a feeling I was needed here,” Bart murmured. 

“They don’t want me.”

Silence engulfed them, save for the rustling leaves and Jaime’s muffled sobs. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Bart whispered, rubbing circles between Jaime’s shoulders. “I’ve been there, too.”

Jaime sniffled. “What did you do?”

Bart brushed aside the damp strand of hair clinging to Jaime’s forehead. “I looked for the ones who cared—because someone will always care.”

Rubbing his eyes, Jaime asked, “What if my parents never come around? What if…” He hiccuped.

“Let’s get you outta this rain,” Bart said. “Then we can figure this out.”

He tossed Jaime a helmet and started the bike, wiping the droplets off the seat with his sleeve. 

“Where should we go?” Bart asked. “We could head back to my place, but it’s kinda far. Kon’s house is the next closest, but he might not be home. There are also some gas stations on the way, or maybe a restaurant that’ll let us use the bathroom. Or, hey, I know this motel that’s not half bad—”

Jaime held up his finger. “Hold that thought.”

He lifted Bart’s chin and brought their lips together, fitting perfectly. They moved in sync; Jaime’s hand traveled to Bart’s waist and Bart’s hand found their spot, draped over the nape of Jaime’s neck. Fireworks exploded in his chest. It was crazy how much could change in a night. Jaime smiled, and he felt Bart do the same.

When they pulled apart, Bart said, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

“Same here,” Jaime replied.

Bart turned on the ignition. “So, where to?”

Jaime thought for a second. “Surprise me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, that lowkey went by super fast.


End file.
